•B 


• 


1JCSB   LIBRARY 


UNIFORM  WITH  THIS   VOLUME. 


THE  JERNINGHAM  JOURNALS. 

I  vol.  square  121110,  $1.25. 

A   VERY  YOUNG  COUPLE. 

I  vol.  square  121110,  $1.25. 

Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  Pub- 
lishers, 

SCRIBNER,    ARMSTRONG   6 
743  &°  745  Broadway,   A\; 


I 


•UP 


OX    THE    BALCONY. 


(P-  44). 


MISS    HITCHCOCK'S 


WEDDING    DRESS. 


BY   THE   AUTHOR   OF 


"MRS.    JERNINGHAM'S    JOURNAL,"    "A    VERY 
YOUNG   COUPLE,"    ETC.,  ETC. 


THIRD  THOUSAND. 


NEW     YORK: 

SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG  &  CO. 
1876. 


JOHN  F.  TROW  &  SON, 

PRINTERS  AND  BOOKBINDERS, 

205-213  East  12 1 A  St., 

NEW   YORK.. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

I. — MIRANDA 5 

II. — LADY  GREGORY'S  NEPHEW 22 

III. — AT  MADAME  LA  GAI'S 51 

IV.— A  TETE-A-TETE 75 

V. — THE  FIRST  FLOOR 91 

VI. — SUNDAY 114 

VII. — FRIENDSHIP 133 

VIII. — POOR  Miss  HITCHCOCK! 152 

IX.— EXPLANATIONS 174 

X. — THE  CHARADE 196 

XI. — LOVE 217 

XII.— THE  END         .                238 


MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DEESS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MIRANDA. 

TWO  women  sat  together  in  a  little  room,  work- 
ing so  hard  that  you  could  see  their  daily 
bread  depended  on  their  industry.     Two  womeivwr- 
both  young,  and  the  youngest  a  mere  girl. 

They  were  busy  at  the  same  piece  of  work — a 
white  satin  dress,  covered  with  lace  flounces,  at 
once  delicate  and  rich.  It  was  made  with  two 
"  bodies,"  one  high  and  one  low  ;  a  white  satin  skirt, 
adorned  with  magnificent  lace,  and  attached  to  a  high 
bodice.  Is  there  anyone  in  the  world  so  ignorant  as 
not  to  be  aware  that  such  a  garment  could  only  be 
intended  for  that  most  interesting  of  all  personages 
— a  bride  ;  to  be  worn  on  that  most  interesting  of 
all  occasions — her  wedding-day  ?  In  short,  that  the 
four  hands  so  busily  occupied  were  manufacturing, 
with  light  artistic  touches,  Somebody's  wedding 
dress. 


6  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Both  these  women  were  lady-like  in  their  appear- 
ance, although  their  clothes  were  shabby,  and  their 
surroundings  poor  and  common. 

The  elder  of  the  two  might  perhaps  be  thirty 
years  old.  Pale,  even  sallow,  in  coloring,  with 
handsome  dark  eyes  and  sharply-cut  features,  well 
dressed,  well  fed,  well  tended,  and  happy,  she  might 
still  have  been  called  almost  beautiful. 

The  younger,  more  than  ten  years  her  junior, 
•was  beautiful — beautiful,  notwithstanding  every- 
thing that  conspired  to  make  her  the  contrary. 
Tall  and  slight  as  a  lily,  she  was  also  as  fair  as  one. 
The  delicate  wild-rose  tint  in  her  cheeks  was,  per- 
haps, even  more  lovely  than  the  deeper  hue  that 
might  have  been  there  but  for  work  and  confinement. 
Her  hazel  eyes  were  radiant,  and  a  profusion  of  hair, 
of  the  same  color  as  those  eyes,  covered  her  queen- 
like  little  head.  Her  features  were  small,  delicate, 
and  regular.  She  was  scantily  fed,  she  was  badly 
dressed,  she  was  untidy,  and  she  was  tired.  Poor 
child!  she  had  been  steadily  plying  her  needle  for 
eight  mortal  hours  ;  but  scantily  fed,  badly  dressed, 
untidy,  tired,  and  overworked,  Miranda  Maxwell  was 
as  pretty  a  young  creature  as  could  be  seen. 

"  Have  you  nearly  done,  Sissy  ?  "  said  she,  in  her 


MIRANDA.  7 

sweet,  coaxing  voice,  and  still  using  the  pet  name, 
honored  by  old  custom,  which  had  been  first  given 
to  the  damsel  in  her  teens  by  the  little  lisping  baby 
sister.  "  You  do  look  so  thoroughly  tired,  you  dear 
old  thing.  How  I  wish  I  could  do  all  the  work  and 
let  you  rest." 

"  Rest !  you  foolish  darling.  Why  should  I  rest 
more  than  you,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Because  poor  old  Sissy  has  a  headache,  and  strong 
young  Miranda  has  not  one  bit  of  ache  in  her  whole 
body,  and  is  only  tired  to  death  with  working,  so  she 
knows"  hoiv  tired  poor  Sissy  must  be." 

The  elder  woman  smiled  painfully. 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  said,  "  and  my  head  does  ache 
— but  it  is  of  no  consequence,  and  will  pass  away — 
and  I  mean  to  go  to  bed  the  minute  I  have  finished, 
and  leave  you  to  do  all  the  folding  up  and  putting  by. 
I  take  excellent  care  of  myself  always,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  Sissy !  while  you  are  making  all  these  smart 
dresses,  don't  you  imagine  the  people  who  wear  them, 
and  the  scenes  they  are  worn  in  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  I  don't,"  replied  the  sister,  sighing. 

"  I  do.  Why,  I  see  the  white  arms  and  neck  that 
are  to  shine  through  these  sleeves  and  over  this  lace 
tucker,  and  the  slight  figure  that  will  go  moving 


8  MJSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

about  so  gracefully  under  all  these  heavy  satin  folds. 
A  bride,  Sissy !  Just  fancy  how  she  will  look," 
holding  up  the  dress  as  she  spoke  ;  "  and  think  of  the 
church  gay  with  happy  people,  and  the  pretty  crea- 
ture kneeling  before  the  altar,  and  giving  her  life  up 
to  some  grand  fellow  who  adores  her  ! " 

"  But,  Miranda,  alas  !  I  have  seen  this  bride,  and 
she  is  so  plain  and  so  dark ;  she  was  a  goose  to  choose 
white  satin  to  be  married  in,  and  she  won't  look  a  bit 
nice  in  it." 

"  No,  really  !  What  a  pity  !  And  the  poor  grand 
fellow  ;  you  didn't  see  him  too,  I  suppose  ?  Does  he 
like  her,  I  wonder.  If  I  was  a  man,  I  know,  I  couldn't 
fall  in  love  with  a  dowdy.  I  should  be  caught  by  a 
pretty  face.  I  am  sure  I  should,  Sissy." 

"  Yes  ;  I  did  see  him,  as  it  happens.  She  brought 
him  to  Madame  La  Gai's,  when  I  was  in  the  show- 
room, and  made  him  choose  a  bonnet  for  her." 

"  And  what  was  he  like  ? " 

"  He  was  handsome  and  tall.  She  seemed  de- 
lighted to  have  him  to  lead  about." 

"  Like  a  monkey  at  a  fair." 

"  Only  he  was  a  very  beautiful  monkey  ;  but  he 
answered  her  quite  crossly  two  or  three  times.  I 
declare  he  snubbed  her." 


MIRANDA.  g 

"  What  a  shame !  Fancy  being  snubbed  by  a 
lover." 

"And  he  looked  so  handsome,  and  she  so  plain. 
I  thought  them  quite  an  ill-matched  pair  ;  but  she 
had  a  nice  figure,  which  men  think  a  good  deal  of, 
more  than  of  the  face  sometimes.  She  was  tall 
and  slight  like  you." 

"  Yes.  All  the  while  I  have  been  making  the 
dress,  I  have  been  thinking  it  would  just  fit  me. 
Ah,  Sissy  !  fancy  being  married  in  such  a  dress  as 
this.  Wouldn't  you  like.it  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  .doesn't  it  make  you  sorry  while  you 
work  to  think  of  all  the  people  so  much  happier 
than  you  are,  who  wear  the  dresses  you  only  make  ? " 

"  Sorry  !     Oh,  Sissy,  what  a  notion  ! " 

"  It  would  be  so  much  wiser  to  try  to  turn  your 
thoughts  to  other  things.  I  sometimes  think  that 
there  must  be  a  purgatory  for  rich  people,  who  can 
do  what  they  like,  and  that  only  we  poor  workers 
shall  go  straight  to  heaven.  Nothing  else  could 
make  it  the  least  fair,"  said  the  elder  sister,  a  little 
bitterly. 

"  Why,  I  like  people  to  be  happy  and  everything 
gay,  even  though  we  can't  be  the  same,"  cried 
Miranda,  opening  her  lovely  eyes  in  astonishment. 


I0  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Used  you  to  mind  the  perfect  happinesses  of  he- 
roes and  heroines,  when  we  had  time  to  read  nov- 
els, just  because  they  weren't  yours  ?  And  mak- 
ing these  dresses  is  like  reading  the  stories  of  the 
people  who  wear  them.  Such  scenes  I  fancy  ;  such 
homes  they  take  me  into  ;  such  delightful  things 
keep  happening  all  the  time  I  stitch  away  at  pretty 
finery  !  Only  black  ! "  with  a  little  shudder.  "  Oh  no  ! 
I  can't  bear  making  black.  I  wish  Madame  La  Gai 
would  never  sell  mourning.  I  feel  guilty,  as  if  I 
was  helping  to  make  people  miserable  when  I  sew 
all  that  mournful  crape  on  their  skirts." 

"  Yes,"  said  Sissy,  her  melancholy  mouth  relaxing 
into  a  smile  ;  "  you  cried  your  eyes  out  over  that 
widow's  dress,  till  I  was  obliged  to  do  it  all  myself, 
and  send  you  out  for  a  walk ;  and  then  we  heard 
afterwards  that  Mrs.  Sedgwick  was  a  gay  young  crea- 
ture, and  did  not  care  a  bit  for  her  cross,  gouty, 
rather  disreputable  old  husband — that  she  had 
married  him  for  his  money,  and  was  rather  glad 
than  otherwise  when  he  died." 

"  But  how  could  I  tell  that  ? "  cried  Miranda, 
laughing.  "  I'm  sure  my  tears  were  nicer  than  her 
smiles.  A  widow  ougJit  to  be  miserable ;  and,  at 
any  rate,  the  poor  old  thing  had  some  tears  shed  for 


MIRANDA.  1 1 

him,  thanks  to  me,"  and  she  laughed  again.  "  Only 
I  oughtn't  to  have  made  myself  unfit  to  help  my 
poor  Sissy — there  I  was  as  selfish  as  the  widow  her- 
self— but  I'm  not  so  foolish  now,  am  I,  dear  ?  I 
don't  cry  over  the  things,  however  black  they  may 
be  ;  but  they  do  make  me  sorry.  And  then  a  dress 
like  this,"  again  holding  it  up  before  her,  for  it  was 
now  completed,  "  makes  me  ready  to  dance  for  joy, 
when  I  think  of  the  pretty,  happy  girl ;  but,  oh 
dear !  I  forgot — she's  ugly  and  cross.  What  a 
pity!" 

"  And  now  I  may  really  go  to  bed,"  said  Sissy, 
carefully  putting  up  her  thimble,  scissors,  and 
thread,  and  then  indulging  herself  in  a  great  stretch 
and  thorough  good  yawn. 

"  Yes,  you  poor  dear,  you  may  go  to  bed  now," 
replied  Miranda,  caressing  her  ;  "  but  I  sha'n't  come 
for  a  long  time.  I  am  going  to  give  myself  a  real 
treat  with  Tennyson.  Oh,  how  good  it  was  of  him 
to  publish  himself  at  last  for  six  shillings,  so  that 
even  I  could  get  him  for  my  own  !  " 

"  Don't  sit  up  too  late,  dear." 

"  He's  fifty  times  better  than  sleep,  the  magnif- 
icent creature  ;  and  weren't  those  nice  breakfasts 
and  dinners  when  I  ate  only  just  what  I  couldn't 


12  Jlf/SS  HITCHCOCJCS  WEDDING  DRESS. 

help,  and  saved  up  the  money  to  buy  him  ?  I  de- 
clare I  was  quite  sorry  when  I'd  got  enough,  and 
could  eat  as  usual." 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  Miranda,  when  I  remember  all  the 
books  in  papa's  study  !  " 

"  Oh  !  don't  remember,  darling  Sissy ;  please  don't 
remember.  If  you  begin  remembering,  you'll  lie 
awake  half  the  night ;  you  know  you  will.  I  never 
remember,  except  to  be  glad  that  we  were  born  ladies ; 
and  so  I  get  comfort  even  from  remembering — even 
out  of  our  misfortunes.  But  you  can't  do  that,  poor 
dear,  because  you  are  so  much  wiser  than  I  am." 

"  That  is  the  folly  of  wisdom,"  replied  Sissy,  with 
one  of  her  sad,  sickly  smiles. 

"  Now  do  go  to  bed  and  get  a  long  sleep,  and  then 
you  won't  look  so  wofully  tired  in  the  morning," 
cried  Miranda,  kissing  her  sister,  and  coaxing  her 
out  of  the  little  back  parlor  on  the  ground  floor,  to 
climb  her  weary  way  up  to  the  garret,  far  above  it, 
where  they  slept. 

A  little  back  parlor  and  a  garret  in  a  London 
street,  with  sewing  and  stitching  from  morning  till 
night — this  made  the  work  and  the  life  of  these  two 
women,  who  were  born  and  reared  in  sweet  country 
scenes,  who  were  well  educated  and  refined,  and  had 


MIRANDA.  I3 

once  lived  in  ease  and  happiness.  But  they  had  not 
been  the  well  brought-up-daughters  of  a  much  re- 
spected clergyman  in  vain,  for  they  had  friends  still 
among  those  who  had  once  been  their  father's  parish- 
ioners. At  his  death,  which  had  come  very  suddenly 
and  in  the  equally  unexpected  wreck  of  his  fortunes 
(how  brought  about  it  is  not  necessary  to  relate  here 
as  it  in  no  way  concerns  this  story),  they  might, 
have  commanded  help  from  their  equals  in  rank,  and 
been  well  placed  in  respectable  families  if  they  had 
chosen  to  support  themselves  as  governesses.  But 
Miranda  was  so  young  and  so  pretty,  that  Sophia, 
more  than  ten  years  her  senior,  could  not  bear  the 
idea  of  parting  with  her,  and  sending  her  out  into  the 
world  to  try  her  fortunes  alone.  They  agreed 
that  anything  was  better  than  being  separated,  and 
so,  after  many  consultations  had  been  held,  and 
many  tears  shed,  they  took  to  dressing  the  bodies  of 
their  fellow-creatures,  in  preference  to  the  more 
"genteel"  profession  of  adorning  their  minds.  An 
old  servant  of  their  father,  who  was  now  a  lodging- 
house  keeper  in  a  fashionable  street,  allowed  them  to 
live  cheaply  in  the  rooms  we  have  described  ;  while 
Madame  La  Gai,  a  West  End  dressmaker,  gladly 
supplied  them  with  work  in  their  own  home,  and 


I4  MISS  HITCHCOCICS  WEDDING  DRESS. 

occasionally  employed  the  elder  sister  in  the  show- 
room. In  her  young  and  less  prosperous  unmarried 
days,  she  had  contracted  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  Mr. 
Maxwell,  for  timely  assistance,  which  she  never  for- 
got, but  paid  it  cheerfully  and  with  interest  to  his 
daughters. 

All  dressmakers  are  not  slave-drivers  ;  all  land- 
ladies are  not  termagants,  though  modern  novels 
generally  represent  them  as  such.  The  sisters  met 
with  kindness  and  consideration  ;  and  while  Sophy 
mourned  much  for  the  past,  the  light-hearted 
Miranda  enjoyed  much  in  the  present. 

Her  sister's  conversation  to-night,  however,  had 
tinged  her  thoughts  with  melancholy  ;  and  as  she 
stood  alone  in  the  little  chamber,  with  the  satin 
dress  lying  on  the  table,  it  looked  to  her,  with  its 
lovely  shining  white  surface,  like  the  ghost  of  a  dead 
joy,  which  she  had  never  clasped  in  life,  and  which 
could  now  never  be  hers.  She  touched  it  timidly,  and 
then  passed  her  little  hands  down  the  folds  of  the 
common  mouseline-de-laine  frock  she  wore  herself. 

"  And  I,  too,  am  so  young,"  she  said,  softly,  "  and 
so  gay  ; "  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  (were  they 
unreasonable?)  as  the  thought  of  her  own  gayety 
appealed  to  her  with  an  indescribable  pathos. 


MIRANDA.  IS 

Again  she  touched  the  two  dresses  with  her  rosy 
fingers,  and  then  held  up  the  satin  robe  at  arm's 
length  from  her,  and  smiled  and  nodded  to  it  as  if 
it  had  been  another  girl. 

"It  is  just  my  height,"  she  cried;  "and  Sissy 
said  her  figure  was  like  mine.  Oh  !  only  fancy  me 
in  such  a  dress  as  that !  " 

"  Why  not  ? "  something  within  her  cried  out 
imperiously — "  why  not  ?  Put  it  on ;  why  should 
you  not  put  it  on  ? " 

She  laughed  and  blushed,  and  said,  "What  an 
idea  !  "  But  the  something  was  urgent  and  perse- 
vering, and  kept  on  saying,  "  Put  it  on  ;  you  will 
like  it ;  it  is  such  an  innocent  pleasure,  and  so  new. 
With  all  the  dresses  you  have  made,  you  never 
thought  of  this  before  ;  put  it  on  ! " 

She  slipped  off  her  common  well-worn  frock,  and 
stood  in  her  petticoat,  with  bare  white  arms  and  neck. 
Then,  rather  breathlessly,  she  put  on  the  muslin 
skirt  worn  under  the  robe,  and  then  the  dress  itself, 
fastening  it  carefully,  and  shaking  out  the  folds  and 
flowers  with  light,  joyful  fingers. 
*It  fitted  her  exactly. 

"  But  oh ! "  she  cried,  "  I  must  see  her."  She 
spoke  of  herself  in  that  bridal  finery  as  if  she  was 


j6  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

somebody  else.     "  I  can't  see  her';  I  should  like  to 
see  her !  " 

There  was  no  mirror  in  the  dingy  back  parlor, 
but  she  knew  that  in  the  front  room  there  was  a 
large  one,  and  she  also  knew  that  the  inhabitants  of 
that  room  had  gone  out  for  the  evening. 

With  a  little  laugh,  and  clapping  her  hands  for  a 
quick  hasty  minute,  she  ran  into  the  adjoining 
apartment,  and  danced  forward  to  the  looking-glass, 
where,  with  quite  a  start  of  delight  and  astonishment, 
she  beheld  the  radiant  creature  she  had  come  to 
see. 

"  How  pretty  she  is  !  how  dear  she  is  !  Oh,  you 
beautiful  darling ! "  and  the  glowing  lips  met  the 
other  lips  in  the  mirror  with  a  sweet  girl-kiss.  "But 
you  know,  my  dear,  you  must  do  your  hair  properly, 
like  the  ladies  you  see.'' 

In  those  days  it  was  easy  to  dress  such  hair  as  hers, 
hanging,  as  it  did,  in  rich,  but  rather  short  natural 
curls  all  over  her  head.  It  had  only  to  be  frizzed 
about  and  disordered  a  little,  and  raised  over  combs  in 
imitation  of  puffs,  and  it  made,  in  its  bright,  golden- 
brown  tangle,  a  very  fashionable  coiffure. 

A  pair  of  white  kid  gloves  lay  on  the  table  ;  ap- 
parently they  had  been  tried  on  by  one  of  the  occu- 


MIRANDA.  17 

pants  of  the  room,  and,  not  fitting,  had  been  thrown 
down  in  haste.  Miranda,  having  finished  dressing 
her  hair  took  them  up. 

"  Six  and  a-half,"  she  said,  '•  your  very  number  ; " 
and  she  held  them  in  her  hand,  and  curtsied  to  the 
girl  in  the  looking-glass,  to  whom  she  showed  them  ; 
"your  very  number,  you  know.  But  you  must  not 
put  them  on,  or  you  will  be  found  out,  you  naughty 
little  thief ;  "  and  she  shook  her  fist  at  the  laughing, 
radiant  creature  she  kept  curtseying  to  all  the  time 
she  spoke.  "  You  laugh,  do  you  ?  fie,  fie  !  Why 
you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  ;  you  know  you 
ought." 

And  then  she  began  to  dance. 

Presently  she  stole  softly  up  stairs  into  Sissy's 
room,  where  that  poor  weary  woman  lay  breathing 
deeply,  in  the  heavy  sleep  of  the  overworked.  How 
sallow,  worn,  and  old  her  face  looked  on  the  shabby 
pillow  !  But  Miranda,  dearly  as  she  loved  it,  was  too 
well  accustomed  to  that  tired  face  to  have  any  new 
sorrow  aroused  by  it ;  though,  to  my  mind,  a  worn 
soul  in  a  sleeping  face  is  the  saddest  of  all  the  sad 
sights  which  this  mysterious  world  can  show  us. 

On  tiptoe,  with  her  finger  0:1  her  lips,  she  ap- 
proached a  chest  of  drawers,  and  unlocked  one  of 


1 8  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

them  which  she  knew  contained  some  treasures — a 
few  things,  a  few  luxuries  belonging  to  the  prosperous 
past.  Things — some  of  them  kept  almost  accident- 
ally, and  because  it  had  not  been  known  what  else 
to  do  with  them  than  to  keep  them  ;  and  others  be- 
cause it  would  have  been  too  painful  to  part  with 
them,  on  account  of  associations  connected  with 
their  givers,  or  with  happy  moments  in  which  they 
were  given.  She  turned  them  all  over  noiselessly, 
and  quite  triumphantly  held  up  a  pair  of  white  satin 
boots  and  a  little  red  opera  cloak.  Then  she  opened 
the  morocco  case  in  which  lay  the  family  jewels,  that 
had  sometimes,  in  her  childish  days,  been  displayed 
to  her  wondering,  admiring  eyes,  and  took  out  the 
dear  old  grandmother's  pins — two  diamond  stars  for 
the  hair — and  her  black  velvet  ribbon  for  the  neck, 
clasped  with  glittering  diamonds.  Hastily  she 
adorned  head,  neck,  shoulders,  and  feet  with  all  this 
pretty  finery,  and,  pausing  at  'the  foot  of  the  bed, 
longed  to  wake  up  Sophy,  that  she  might  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her  so  brilliant  and  so  fair.  "  She 
has  not  an  idea  how  nice  I  am,"  she  thought ;  "  but 
I  must  not  wake  her,  poor  Sissy.  She  might  lie 
too  long  awake  if  I  did."  Then  she  ran  rapidly 
down  stairs  to  the  front  sitting  room.  "  If  Sissy 


MIRANDA.  T 

mustn't  see  me,  I  may  see  myself,"  she  cried,  as  she 
stood  before  the  mirror. 

The  diamonds  sparkled  in  her  hair,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  beneath  the  diamonds. 

"  How  lovely  girls  are  when  they  are  dressed  !  " 
she  said,  almost  regretfully  ;  "  and  such  a  fright  as 
I  am  in  my  stuff  frock  !  Who  would  have  thought 
it  ? " 

At  this  moment  a  noise  of  many  carriages,  that 
appeared  all  just  to  pass  the  house  and  then  to  stop 
abruptly,  drew  her  attention  to  the  window,  and, 
peeping  through  the  shutters,  she  saw,  in  the  broad 
moonlight  of  the  summer  night,  vehicle  after  vehicle 
drive  up  to  the  door  of  the  next  house,  and  there 
deposit  their  freight  of  richly-attired  women  and 
black-coated  men,  who  instantly  disappeared  through 
it ;  while  suddenly,  from  within  it,  a  burst  of  dance 
music  made  a  joyful  sound,  like  an  invitation  to 
be  happy.  "  And  I  am  dressed  like  them  ;  I  look 
like  them.  I  might  run  in  among  them — dance,  laugh, 
talk,  and  be  happy  too  !"  she  cried.  Then,  with  a 
look  of  astonishment — "  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  "  and  she 
burst  into  a  fit  of  soft  laughter,  and  for  a  moment 
danced  up  and  down  on  the  same  spot,  like  a  delighted 
child. 


20  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Then,  in  an  instant?  without  waiting  to  reflect  (had 
she  so  waited,  this  story  would  never  have  been 
written),  she  slipped  out  of  the  house,  and,  running  a 
few  steps  on  the  pavement,  entered  the  one  next 
door.  Some  ladies  who  had  just  descended  from 
their  carriage  preceded  her,  and  she  followed  them 
as  closely  as  if  she  belonged  to  their  party.  Two 
richly-dressed  elderly  women  and  three  young  ones, 
in  floating  draperies  of  blue  and  white,  were  the 
pioneers  in  whose  steps  Miranda  trod.  When  they 
gave  their  cloaks  to  the  attending  servants,  she  did 
the  same  with  hers  ;  and  when  they  declined  tea, 
she  also  passed  on  with  only  a  bow  of  her  head  •, 
and  so  they  walked  up  the  crowded  staircase  to- 
wards the  ballroom,  still  followed  by  this  happy,  in- 
nocent, daring,  imprudent  creature,  who  felt  at  the 
same  moment  as  if  she  was  in  a  dream,  and  yet  as 
if  she  had  never  been  so  vividly  awake  in  all  her  life 
before. 

At  the  head  of  the  staircase,  just  within  the  thres- 
hold of  the  drawing-room,  stood  a  stately  woman, 
magnificently  attired,  who  bowed  and  smiled  to  all 
the  guests,  and  occasionally  shook  hands  with  a 
favored  few  as  they  entered  ;  and  Miranda  and  her 
five  ladies,  in  due  turns  came  in  for  their  share  of 


MIRANDA.  2I 

these  salutations.  There  was,a  crowd  in  the  room, 
but  a  crowd  still  pressing  onward  to  something  be- 
yond ;  and  Miranda,  as  she  looked  about  her  in  pain- 
ful bewilderment,  observed  that  the  younger  ladies 
were  all  sooner  or  later-  accosted  by  gentlemen,  and 
led  off  into  a  large  inner  apartment,  where  a  waltz 
was  being  danced.  Suddenly  she,  too,  was  address- 
ed. A  tall,  very  good-looking  man,  who  had  been 
watching  her  for  some  moments,  though  she  was  not 
in  the  least  aware  that  he  had  been  doing  so,  offer- 
ed her  his  arm,  saying,  "  May  I  have  the  pleasure  ?  " 
and  she  found  herself  in  the  next  room  before  she 
knew  where  she  was. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LADY  GREGORY'S  NEPHEW. 

"  "\7OU  wil1  excuse  my  not  waiting  for  an  intro- 
j[  duction,"  said  he,  immediately  ;  "  but  I  am 
Lady  Gregory's  nephew." 

Miranda  laughed  gayly,  and,  being  quite  ignorant 
of  the  force  of  the  argument  contained  in  those 
words,  replied  simply,  "  Are  you  really  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  so,  though  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you  before,  I  thought  I  might  venture." 

She  laughed  again. 

"  Oh !  is  it  not  beautiful  ?  "  she  cried,  softly — "  the 
flowers,  the  music.  Do  you  always  live  like  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  always,"  replied  he,  not  understanding  the 
situation. 

"  How  happy  you  must  be  ! "  sighed  Miranda. 
"  How  different  lives  are — and  all  the  girls  are  pret- 
ty !  "  she  added,'  looking  round  her  with  delight. 

"  It  is  not  in  that  you  find  the  difference,"  he  re- 
plied, with  smiling  gallantry. 


LAD  Y  GREGOR  YJS  NEPHE  W.  33 

She  turned  her  lovely  eyes  frankly  upon  him. 
"  It  is  in  everything,"  she  said  ;  "  but,  ah  !  you 
don't  understand  ;  how  should  you  ? " 

"  I  think  I  do,  though,"  answered  he,  with  a  sort 
of  eagerness,  and  looking  at  her  very  kindly,  as  he 
first  discovered  with  what  earnestness  her  remarks 
were  made.  "  I  think  I  do  understand.  This  is 
your  first  ball  ;  is  not  that  it  ?  " 

"  That  it !  "  she  cried,  almost  in  scorn.  "  Well, 
it  is  my  first  ball.  I  never  was  at  one  before." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  watching  the  play  of  her  counte- 
nance with  an  interest  to  which  he  was  quite  unac- 
customed ;  "so  I  see ;  and  I  think  also  that  it  is 
your  first  visit  to  London.  You  come  from  some 
delightful  country  home — a  parsonage,  perhaps," 
but  here  his  eye,  as  it  scanned  Her,  fell  on  the  dia- 
monds, the  rich  satin  and  expensive  lace  ;  "  no, 
not  that,  but  some  bright,  flower-covered  dwelling, 
and  you  are  new  to  town  and  town  gaieties." 

Miranda  gave  her  hands  a  little  joyful  clap,  and 
laughed  gleefully,  like  a  child. 

"  Oh,  you  wizard  !  "  she  said  ;  "  do  you  think 
that  ? "  No  heart  could  resist  such  a  sweet,  gay  laugh, 
and  her  partner  laughed  too,  and  looked  almost  affec- 
tionately down  into  her  transparent  eyes. 


24  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  boldly,  "  I  do.  I  will  venture  to 
pronounce  that  you  are  not  a  London  young  lady." 

"  Ah  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  and  what  else  ? " 

"  What  else  ? "  replied  he,  smiling.  "  I  think,  then, 
that  you  are  always  quite  happy  ;  not  only  in  a  gay 
scene  like  this,  but  in  your  own  pretty  home  also." 

"  Are  you  a  fortune-teller  ?  "  asked  she,  shaking 
her  fair  head,  crowned  with  its  rich  tangle  of  bright 
hair  and  diamond  stars. 

"  A  fortune-teller  ?  Not  for  the  future,  I  am 
afraid,  though  I  may  guess  a  little  about  the  past 
and  present." 

"  I  wish  you  were.  I  wish  you  could  tell  my  fu- 
ture," said  Miranda,  turning  her  sweet,  innocent 
face  towards  him  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  he  cried,  with  a'  sudden  eager- 
ness quite  unexpected  to  himself,  and  looking  at  her 
as,  perhaps,  in  all  his  thirty  years  of  life,  he  had 
never  yet  looked  at  a  woman  ;  then,  cooling  down, 
even  more  surprised  at  his  own  feelings  than  at  the 
fresh  simplicity  that  had  excited  them,  he  added, 
"  but  I  am,  as  I  said,  for  the  past  and  for  the  present ; 
and  being  so,  I  recognize  your  life  as  an  exception- 
ally happy  one.  I  think  you  are  always  happy." 

"  I  am  always  happy,  am  I  ? "  she  said ;  and  nodded 


LAD  Y  GREGOR  Y'S  NEPHE  W.  2  * 

her  head  with  a  little  knowing  air  that  was  perfectly 
enchanting.  "  Yes,  so  I  am  ;  and  my  life  is  an  ex- 
ceptionally happy  one  ?  No  indeed  !  that  it  isn't. 
It  is  exceptionally  the  other  way ;  and  I  am  happy 
in  spite  of  my  life." 

Then,  to  his  dismay,  he  found  that  the  beautiful 
eyes  were  filling  with  tears,  while  one  crystal  drop 
overflowed  and  hung  on  the  long  lashes  for  an  instant, 
ere  the  little  hand  brushed  it  away. 

He,  too,  felt  ready  to  cry,  and  said  to  himself,  indig- 
nantly, "  So  this  is  the  result  of  your  stupid  ballroom 
talk,  when  it  strikes  against  a  true,  earnest  nature." 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said  aloud,  in  quite  a  paternal 
manner,  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  mean  ;  please 
don't  mind ;  but — "  and  he  added  this  question 
because  he  really  could  not  help  it,  he  felt  so  sorry, 
"  are  not  you  happy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  answered  frankly.  "  But  then 
it's  /  that  am  happy,  not  my  life." 

"  I  am  so  sorry."  he  said,  with  hearty  sincerity 
and  a  sort  of  penitent  air,  as  if  he  felt  himself  to 
blame  in  the  matter. 

She  smiled.  "  But  you  needn't  mind,"  she  said  ; 
"  I  don't." 

Then  there  was  a  little  pause  between  them,  while 


26  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIATG  DRESS. 

the  lovely  eyes  watched  the  dancers  wistfully,  and 
were  afterwards  raised  to  his  with  quite  a  pathetic 
expression  of  entreaty. 

"Might  I  dance  ? "  she  asked.  "  I  do  so  wish  it." 
He  looked  at  her  with  mingled  amusement  and 
delight.  He  confessed  to  himself  that  he  had  never 
before  been  so  captivated  by  any  girl,  or  had  ever 
before  met  with  any  girl  in  the  least  like  her.  Her 
freshness  alone  was  sufficient  to  enchant  him  ; 
and  when  to  such  freshness  of  character  was  added 
such  fresh  beauty  of  face,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  sud- 
denly become  a  believer  in  the  possibility,  at  least, 
of  love  at  first  sight.  He  would  certainly  have  pre- 
ferred to  continue  talking  to  her,  but  no  man  could 
resist  her  pathetic  "  Might  I  dance  ? "  And  as,  next 
to  her  conversation,  to  dance  with  her  was  the 
greatest  pleasure  he  could  at  the  moment  imagine, 
he  very  willingly  began  to  waltz. 

For  a  few  steps  it  se*emed  doubtful  whether  their 
styles  suited,  or,  indeed,  whether  Miranda  had  any 
style  at  all  ;  but  either  she  soon  remembered  what 
she  had  once  learned,  or  she  acquired  knowledge 
with  surprising  rapidity,  for  after  those  few  steps, 
her  dancing,  even  to  his  fastidious  taste,  was  as 
charming  as  herself. 


LAD  Y  GREGOR  Y'S  NEPHE  W.  27 

I  hardly  know  which  of  the  two  enjoyed  the 
waltz  most ;  and  when  it  was  over,  he  did  not  feel 
in  the  least  inclined  to  leave  her  side,  but  walked 
her  round  and  round  the  room  as  often  as  etiquette 
permitted. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  suddenly  putting  her  hand  up 
to  her  eyes,  as  if  something  hurt  them.  "  Who  is 
that  poor  woman  who  is  scowling  so  ?  Can  it  be 
with  me  she  is  so  angry  ?  or  is  she  like  a  picture, 
and  seems  to  look  at  everybody  who  looks  at  her  ? " 

"  Who  do  you  mean?     Where  ?     I  don't  see." 

"  There,  that  poor  woman  in  blue,  who  is  so — so 
ugly — and  so  brown — so  very  brown — an  Indian, 
perhaps.  You  must  see  her  now  under  those  lights, 
and  scowling  at  me — at  least  she  seems  as  if  she 
was." 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  see  her  now." 

"  And  who  is  she  ?  " 

"  She  is — a  Miss  Hitchcock,"  replied  he,  with 
extraordinary  bitterness  in  his  voice  and  face. 

"  Miss  Hitchcock !  Oh  !  you  don't  really  mean 
it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  how  very,  very  odd  !  And  is  that  really 
Miss  Hitchcock!  Yes,  to  be  sure;  she  is  just  like 


28  M/SS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

what  Sissy  said.  And  now,  where  is  Mr.  Cressing- 
ham,  poor  man  ?  I'm  sorry  for  him  ;  he  ought  to 
be  with  her ;  but  he  can't  be  that  man  she's  danc- 
ing with,  I  know." 

"  Can't  he  ?     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Oh !  that  man  is  short  and  insignificant,  and 
Mr.  Cressingham  is  extremely  good-looking  and  tall 
and  nice." 

"Is  he?"  replied  her  partner,  laughing.  "  Do 
you  know  him,  then  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't  know  him  ;  but  I  have  heard  him 
described.  Point  him  out  to  me,  please." 

He  looked  first  at  her,  and  then  all  about  the 
room,  and  then  at  her  again ;  after  which  he  said, 
slowly,  "  Do  you  know,  it's  very  odd,  but  I  don't  see 
him  anywhere." 

"  He  ought  to  be  with  her,"  she  replied,  gravely. 

"  Ought  he  ?  but  why  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  because — "  she  began  quickly,  and  added 
in  a  lower  voice,  "  they  are  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  And  must  people  who  are  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried always  go  in  couples,  poor  things  ?  " 

"  Poor  things  ?  "  cried  she  indignantly.  "  What  ! 
if  they  care  for  each  other  ?  *'  but  she  paused  in 
the  middle  of  the  speech,  and  said  the  last  words  a 


LADY  GREGORY'S  NEPHEW.  29 

little  shyly,  when  she  found  what  they  were  going 
to  be. 

"  In  some  cases,  yes,  of  course,"  he  answered, 
catching  light  from  her  eyes,  and  seeming  for  the 
moment  capable  of  feeling  anything  himself. 

"  In  some  cases,"  repeated  Miranda,  looking  great- 
ly astonished.  Then  she  reflected  a  little,  and 
added,  "  Well,  I  suppose  that  is  true,  and  that  this  is 
not  one  of  them  ;  for  I  have  heard  that  she  is  very 
cross — oh  !  doesn't  she  look  so  ? — and  snubs  him." 

"  Snubs  him  !  "  cried  her  partner,  frowning.  "  Oh  ! 
they  say  that,  do  they  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  and  they  say  worse  things  than 
that.  Do  you  know,  he  can't  be  really  nice,  though 
he  is  so  handsome  " — here  she  spoke  quite  confi- 
dentially-— "  for  I  do  almost  believe  he  is  marrying 
her  for  her  money." 

"  How  shocking  !  "  replied  he.  His  voice  sound- 
ed bitter  and  sarcastic,  and  he  colored  so  much  as 
he  spoke,  that  she  saw  he  was  quite  as  indignant  at 
the  idea  of  a  mercenary  marriage  as  she  was  herself. 

"Yes,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said,  simply.  "  Only  fancy 
what  their  lives  will  be  when  they  are  married." 

"  No,  don't  fancy  it,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "  Per- 
haps they  never  will  be  married." 


30  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DXESS. 

*  v 

"  Oh  yes !  "  cried  she,  opening  her  eyes  wide ; 
"  they  will.  Why,  the  wedding  day  is  fixed  and  the 
dress  made ;  "  and  she  glanced  down  at  her  satin 
robe  and  laughed  a  little. 

"  And  yet  the  marriage  may  not  take  place,"  per- 
sisted he.  "  I  have  known  marriages  broken  off — 
yes,  at  the  very  altar." 

Miranda  opened  her  lovely  brown  eyes  even 
wider  than  she  had  opened  them  before,  as  if  she 
was  taking  in  new  and  alarming  ideas.  "  But  that 
is  very  wrong,"  she  said,  slowly,  with  a  great 
emphasis  on  the  very. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  cried  he,  with  eagerness.  "  Are  you 
sure  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.     I  am.     Am  I  not  ?     Can 

there  be  any  doubt  ? " 

"  It  seems  to  me  there  can.  Now  look  here  ;  which 
is  worst — to  break  a  promise,  or  to  swear  a  lie  ? " 

"  To  break  a  promise,  or  to  swear  a  lie  ?  "  repeated 
Miranda,  absolutely  appalled  ;  "  but  both  are  im- 
possible— nobody  could  do  either." 

"  Oh  !  couldn't  they  ? "  cried  he,  bitterly  ;  "  and 
does  nobody  ever  make  a  mistake,  then  ?  Why, 
what  a  delightful  world  this  is  we  are  living  in !  " 

"  A  mistake  ? " 


LAD  Y  GREG  OR  Y'S  NEPHE  W.  3  : 

"Yes,  a  mistake  ;  there  are  such  things  as  mis- 
takes, I  do  assure  you.  Suppose,  now,  that  two 
people  are  engaged  to  be  married,  and  one  of  them 
finds  out  that  he  (or  shall  we  say  she  ?)  does  not 
really  care  for  the  other,  shall  he  (or  she)  break  the 
first  promise — there's  a  broken  promise,  you  see — 
or  shall  he  (or  she)  go  to  the  church  and  there  per- 
jure himself  (and  there's  the  sworn  lie),  and  so 
begin  a  life  of  deceit  that  never  ends  ? " 

Her  innocent  face  clouded  over,  as  a  child's,  or 
perhaps  an  angel's,  might,  who  hears  of  sin  for  the 
first  time. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  slowly  and  sadly,  "  that  might 
happen  ;  I  suppose  it  might.  But  it  is  too  painful, 
isn't  it  ?  Why  should  we  imagine  such  things  ? " 

"  Let  us  just  for  one  little  minute,"  persisted  he, 
pleadingly,  "  while  you  tell  me  what  that  unhappy 
person  ought  to  do." 

"  How  can  I  tell  ? "  said  she,  simply  ;  "  but  there 
can't  be  any  doubt,  can  there  ? " 

"  Well,"  he  cried,  with  great  eagerness,  "  what 
should  he  do,  then  ? " 

"  Tell  her  the  truth,  of  course,  and  ask  her  to 
release  him." 

"And  if  she  refuses?" 


32  MSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  But  she  couldn't  refuse." 

"  Couldn't  she  ?  Well,  please — just  for  the  sake 
of  the  argument,  you  know — suppose  she  did?" 

"  Then,  of  course,  he  must  marry  her." 

She  spoke  as  if  she  announced  an  undoubted 
fact,  and  he  listened  to  the  words  as  if  they  were 
an  oracle. 

"  What !  "  he  cried,  and  a  sudden  pain  came  into 
his  face  ;  "  do  you  really  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  there  can't  be  two  opinions  on 
the  subject  ;  don't  you  think  so  too? " 

"  And  swear  false  vows — swear  to  love  and  hon- 
or, when  he  does  neither  ? " 

"No,  no!"  she  cried,  distressed  and  eager ;  "he 
would  have  told  her,  and  he  would  try  to  do  his 
very  best ;  there  would  be  no  falseness  in  it ;  and 
he  would  be  helped  ;  he  would  pray—"  she  stopped 
suddenly,  blushing  crimson,  and  something  like  a 
tear  glistened  on  her  eyelashes.  "  Oh  !  "  she  cried, 
"  don't  talk  of  such  things  here  ;  it  is  irreverent." 

"Divine  innocence!"  exclaimed  he,  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

But  she  did  not  hear  the  words,  neither  did 
she  observe  the  look  of  tender  admiration  with 
which  he  was  regarding  her.  She  was  too  busy 


LAD  Y  GREGOR  Y'S  NEPHE  W.  33 

controlling  her  own  feelings  to  trouble  herself 
about  his. 

"  She  would  be  such  a  horrid  woman,  who  would 
make  him,  after  he  had  told  her,  you  know,"  she 
said  at  last. 

"  Yes  ;  but  there  are  horrid  women,  in  the  world." 

"  I  suppose  there  are,"  said  she,  reluctantly. 
"Isn't  it  a  pity?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pity,  when  one  thinks  of  the  misery 
they  cause.  You  are  only  thinking  of  her  ;  but  do, 
please,  think  of  him  for  a  minute.  Is  he  to  be 
miserable  for  ever,  only  just  because  he  has  made  a 
mistake  ?  "  He  spoke  quite  impatiently. 

"  Only  just  ?  "  cried  she,  shaking  her  head,  "Oh  ! 
but  it  is  a  great  deal  more  than  that.  There  must 
be  something  very  wrong,  indeed,  about  him,  before 
he  could  make  that  sort  of  a  mistake,  you  know  ;  " 
and  the  little  head  nodded  very  decidedly  and  em- 
phatically here.  "  K  good  man.  wouldn't  do  it." 

"  A^YwZman,"  repeated  he,  discontentedly  ;  "but 
so  few  men  are  good." 

Her  eyes  turned  upon  him,  radiant  with  surprise 
and  a  sort  of  indignation. 

"  So  few  men  good  !  "  she  cried,  "  What  an  idea  ! 
How  little  you  know  !" 


34  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Another  waltz  was  playing  now. 

"  They  are  dancing  again,"  she  said,  "  and  it  is  so 
delicious  !  Please,  I  don't  understand — what  happens 
— do  we  change  partners,  or — how  do  we  manage  ?  " 

"Where  is  her  chaperone?"  thought  the  gentle- 
man. "  Surely  she  came  in  with  Mrs.  Nesbit.  How 
can  she  be  so  completely  left  to  herself  ? " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  basely  ;  "  we  don't  change 
partners  ;  we  go  on  dancing  together  as  long  as  we 
like." 

"  Then  shall  we  begin  again  ?  It  is  such  waste 
of  time,  when  we  migJit  be  dancing  !  It  seems  al- 
most wrong  ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Decidedly,"  answered  he  ;  and  they  commenced 
waltzing. 

When  next  they  stopped,  she  instantly  spoke 
breathlessly,  with  a  little  joyful  laugh. 

"  Can  the  lives  in  the  different  planets,"  she  asked, 
"  be  more  different  than  the  different  lives  in  this 
one  ? " 

Three  "differents"  in  one  sentence  ;  but  he  only 
added  three  more  to  them  in  the  reply  which  his 
lips  uttered,  while  his  eyes  were  bent  in  keen  admira- 
tion on  her  sweet,  animated  face. 

"And  can  the  girls  in  different  planets  be  more 


LADY  GREGORY'S  NEPHEW.  35 

different,"  he  said,  "  than  the  different  girls  in  this 
one  ?  " 

A  surprised  look  in  her  face,  as  if  thoughts  racing 
rapidly  to  an  end  had  been  brought  to  a  sudden  check 
before  they  reached  it.  She  glanced  round  her. 

"  Are  they  ?  "  she  said,  doubtfully  ;  "  but  no" — 
and  again  came  that  joyous  child's  laugh — "girls 
are  so  like,  only  you  don't  know  it ;  how  should  you  ? 
It's  different  dresses  does  it  all." 

"  As  now  ?  "  asked  he,  puzzled. 

"Ah  !"  she  cried,  nodding  her  pretty  head  confi- 
dentially, "  doiit  I  look  like  them  all  now  ?  And  if 
you  could  see  me  at  home  !  Why,  I  had  not  the 
least  idea  what  I  was  like." 

He  caught  her  meaning. 

"  This  is  your  first  appearance  in  such  splendid 
plumage,  I  daresay,"  he  answered,  smilingly ;  "  but 
still,  at  home,  I  don't  suppose  you  are  quite  a  Cin- 
derella." 

"  Yes,  I  am  !"  cried  she,  delighted  ;  "  that  is  just 
what  I  am  !  Dear  Cinderella  !  don't  you  love  the 
story  ?  or  didn't  you  when  you  were  a  child  ?  I 
always  was  so  fond  of  it,  and  how  little  I  thought " 
— She  burst  out  laughing,  and,  in  her  light-hearted 
glee,  seemed  almost  dancing  where  she  stood. 


36  MSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  And  the  wicked  sisters,"  said  he.  "  Do  you 
carry  out  the  story  into  all  its  particulars  ? " 

"  No,  indeed.  Poor  old  Sissy  !  What  a  shame  ! 
And  yet — yes — partly,  even  in  that;  for  she  would 
be  surprised  if  she  knew  I  was  here." 

"And  the  slipper,"  he  continued,  very  much 
amused — "the  slipper.  I  hope  you  will  leave  me 
the  slipper.  I  am  the  Prince,  of  course." 

"  As  to  that,"  she  cried,  "  see  !  "  and,  raising  her 
dress  a  little  half -inch,  her  foot  peeped  out. 

"  Boots  !  "  he  cried ;  "  but  never  mind.  The 
foot  that  wears  them  is  small  enough  to  be  Cin- 
derella's own.  How  I  should  like  to  find  you  some 
morning  among  your  cinders.  May  I  come  and  try  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly ;  you  may  come  and  try." 

"  When  next  I  call  dn  Mrs.  Nesbit,  I  shall  go 
down  the  area  steps  into  the  kitchen." 

"  Will  you  ?  That  will  be  very  humble  of  you. 
But  what  in  the  world  will  you  do  it  for  ? " 

"  Why,  in  order  to  find  Cinderella  among  her  cin- 
ders ! " 

"  Oh  !  I  see — yes — Mrs.  Nesbit,"  speaking  slowly 
and  looking  about  her,  till  her  eye  fell  on  the  lady 
in  whose  train  she  had  entered  the  room.  "  Yes, 
of  course." 


LAD  Y  GREGOR  Y'S  NEPHE W.  37 

Then  they  danced  again. 

"  Do  you  know  Miss  Hitchcock  ? "  she  asked,  as 
the  waltz  stopped  playing. 

He  started  more  perceptibly  than  at  all  became 
a  man  of  the  world,  but  answered  immediately, 
"  Yes,  I  do  a  little." 

"  She  looks  horrid.     Is  she?" 

"  Yes,  very  horrid." 

"  Poor  thing  !  how  trying  it  must  be  ! " 

"  What  ? "  asked  he,  frowning. 

"  Why,  to  be  like  that !  Fancy  being  that  one's 
self.  I  do  pity  her  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit ;  I  pity  those  who  have  to  do  with  her, 
not  her." 

"  How  odd  it  all  is !  how  little  I  thought  I  should 
meet  her  to-night !  I  wonder  what  she  thinks  of 
me;  she  does  keep  looking  at  me,  doesn't  she  ?  "  then, 
suddenly  frightened,  "  Oh  !  is  it  me  or  my  dress  she's 
looking  at  ? " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  ;  why,  at  you,  of  course,  not 
at  your  dress.  What  should  she  look  at  your  dress 
for  ?  Its  charmingly  pretty — white  and  shiny  and  all 
that ;  but  it's  nothing  remarkable,  is  it  ?  But  why  do 
you  keep  on  thinking  so  much  about  Miss  Hitchcock 
at  all  ?  Verily,  it's  doing  her  too  much  honor." 


3g  MSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Ah!  but  there's  a  reason  I  can't  tell  you  why  I 
can't  help  thinking  about  her — there  is  indeed." 

A  gentleman  who  had  been  for  some  time  looking 
a  great  deal  at  Miranda,  now  approached  her,  and 
asked  her  partner  to  introduce  him.  He  made  the 
necessary  senseless  signs,  and  uttered  the  accustomed 
unintelligible  sounds,  and  the  ceremony  of  intro- 
duction was  complete. 

The  gentleman  immediately  asked  her  to  dance 
with  him,  but  she  smiled,  and  replied  that  she  could 
not,  as  she  was  dancing  with — and  here  she  paused, 
and  glanced  towards  her  partner  for  help,  as  she  did 
not  know  his  name. 

He  did  not  return  her  glance  for  some  reason  or 
other— he  was  looking  down  on  the  floor. 

"  Yes,  but  that  waltz  is  over  ;  may  I  not  hope  for 
the  next  ? "  persisted  the  stranger. 

"  But  I  am  going  on  dancing  with  him,"  she 
replied,  with  the  greatest  simplicity. 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  was  the  answer,  while  the  gentle- 
man looked  with  surprise,  first  at  the  one  and  then 
at  the  other. 

Miranda's  face  was  cool  and  bright ;  while  Lady 
Gregory's  nephew  never  lifted  his  eyes  from  the 
floor,  bit  his  lip,  and  uttered  not  a  word.  After  a 


LADY  GREGORY'S  NEPHEW.  39 

moment's  hesitation,  the  new-comer  bowed  gravely 
and  retired.  He  went  straight  across  the  room  and 
entered  into  conversation  with  Miss  Hitchcock, 
their  eyes  being  pointedly  directed,  while  they  talked, 
towards  Miranda  and  her  partner. 

"  What  did  he  mean  ? "  asked  Miranda ;  but  she 
received  no  answer. 

"  That  poor  thing  keeps  looking  at  me  like  an 
evil  eye,  and  makes  me  quite  nervous,"  continued 
she,  with  a  little  shiver. 

"  Come  into  the  next  room,"  he  said  ;  "  the  music 
has  stopped,  the  dance  is  over  for  the  present,  and 
there  we  can  take  a  turn  safe  from  the  persecution 
of  an  eye  that  I  must  own,  is  an  evil  one." 

"  Don't  you  pity  ugly  people  ? "  said  Miranda. 
"  It's  no  wonder  they're  cross  ;  it  must  be  trying." 

"  I  don't  mind  it  a  bit." 

She  looked  at  him,  astonished,  and  then  began  to 
laugh. 

"  Oh  !  but  you  are  not — "  she  cried,  and  then 
stopped,  blushing  and  laughing  again.  "  How  ab- 
surd you  are  !  I  won't  say  it,  because  you  said  it  on 
purpose  to  make  me." 

"  Say  what  ?  " 

"  Oh  you — oh  now— oh  no  ! — nothing  at  all." 


4o  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  And  yet  you  won't  say  it,  because  I  said  it  to 
make  you  say  it.  How  very  obliging  !  Thank  you 
very  much." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  thank  me  for." 

"  Isn't  there  ?  Well  now,  do  you  know,  I  thought 
I  had  a  great  deal  to  thank  you  for  ;  but,  seriously, 
and  to  return  to  the  question  you  put  to  me,  I  don't 
think  it  matters  one  bit  to  people  themselves,  their 
being  ugly.  It  is  their  neighbors  who  suffer." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  don't.  Perhaps  men  don't 
care,  but  girls  must.  Now  that  poor  Miss  Hitch- 
cock ;  just  fancy  being  as  ugly  as  she  is.  I  do  pity 
her." 

"  I  pity  her  husband  more." 

"  Her  husband  ?  Oh  no  ;  I  don't  pity  him  in  the 
least ;  he  needn't  be  her  husband,  but  she  must  be 
herself.  He  has  chosen  her  out  of  all  the  world. 
Why  should  you  pity  him  ?" 

"  Because  I  think  he  is  a  most  consummate  ass." 

"  With  all  my  heart  ;  but  we  needn't  pity  him  for 
that." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  An  indifferently  sensible 
man,  who  behaves  like  an  ass,  is  one  of  the  most 
pitiable  people  in  the  world." 

"  And  is  he  indifferently  sensible  ? " 


LADY  GREGORY'S  NEPHEW.  4I 

"  He  is  generally  accounted  so  ;  he  is  supposed 
to  have  ordinary  abilities." 

"  Oh  well !  you  know  what  I  think  of  him.  He 
is  making  a  mercenary  marriage.  One  can't  but  de- 
spise him ;  and  the  cleverer  he  is,  the  worse  he  is." 

"  You  are  a  severe  judge." 

"  We  must  be — mustn't  we  ? — of  what  is  paltry 
and  mean,  or  we  shouldn't  keep  high-minded  our- 
selves, should  we  ?  " 

"  Paltry  and  mean !  "  repeated  he. 

She  was  surprised  at  his  manner. 

"  Why  do  you  repeat  my  words  ? "  she  said. 

"  Oh  !  nothing,"  he  replied,  very  quietly  ;  "  only  I 
believe  Mr.  Cressingham  is  not  generally  considered 
paltry  and  mean.  I  never  happened  to  hear  the 
words  applied  to  him  before,  that  is  all." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  have  said  it,  but  it 
will  do  him  no  harm  my  applying  them  ;  it  is  a 
small  matter  what  I  think  of  him." 

"  Won't  it  ?  is  it?  "  answered  he. 

"  The  world  is  wide,  these  things  are  small ; 
If  they  are  nothing,  what  is  there  at  all  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  ''  said  she,  smiling,  "  you  are  a  reader  of 
Monkton  Milnes." 

"  Are  those  lines  from  Monkton  Milnes  ? " 


42  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Did  not  you  know  it  ?  He  writes  charming 
poetry,  and  never  gets  the  credit  of  anything." 

"  Oh  !  but  I  think  he  does  ;  he  has  a  very  high 
reputation,"  replied  her  partner. 

"I  don't  know.  You  see  you  quoted  him  without 
knowing  it  ;  and  then  I  always  think  it  is  such  a 
shame  that  Tennyson  gets  all  the  credit  of  the 
grand  couplet  about  'lov'd  and  lost,'  when  poor 
Monkton  Milnes  said  it  first." 

"  '  Twere  better  to  have  lov'd  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  lov'd  at  all,'  " 

quoted  her  partner,  in  musical  accents  ;  "  but  what 
do  you  mean?  Surely  nobody  said  that  before 
Tennyson  ?  surely  not  Monkton  Milnes  ?  When 
and  where  ? " 

She  repeated  softly,  and  without  too  much  ex- 
pression for  a  ballroom — 

" '  He  who  for  love  has  undergone 

The  worst  that  can  befall, 
Is  happier,  thousand-fold,  than  one 
Who  never  lov'd  at  all. 

A  grace  within  his  soul  hath  reigned, 

Which  nothing  else  can  bring  ; 
Thank  God  for  all  that  I  have  gained 

By  this  high  suffering.'" 

"Beautiful  verses!"  cried  he;    "and  are  those 


LADY  GREGORY'S  NEPHEW.  43 

• 
Lord  Houghton's  ?     Then,  after  all,  Tennyson  only 

condensed  what  M41nes  said  before  him  ! " 

"  Yes,  really,  that  was  all ;  and  I  have  some  no- 
tion that  the  idea  comes  originally  from  a  Spanish 
poet,"  added  she. 

"And  I  have  little  doubt  that,  like  almost  every- 
thing else,  some  Latin  fellow  said  it  first  of  all." 

"  No,  really  ;  and  isrit  it  curious  that  Tennyson 
should  have  got  all  the  credit  ?" 

"  You  are  not  an  admirer  of  Tennyson. " 

"/not  an  admirer  of  Tennyson  ?"  and  her  cheeks 
flushed  a  lovely  pink,  while  her  eyes  grew  more  ra- 
diant than  ever.  "Why,  I  have  him  of  my  own,  and 
I  saved  up  to  buy  him.  I — ah  !  you  don't  know — 
you  couldn't  guess — not  if  you  tried  forever — what 
I  did  in  order  to  get  Tennyson  ;  and  I  declare,"  she 
cried,  with  sudden  remorse,  "  I  meant  to  have  been 
reading  him  all  this  evening,  and  here  I  am  instead !  " 

She  looked  really  quite  distressed,  and  he  hastened 
to  comfort  her. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  you  are  talking  of  him 
and  quoting  him,  if  you  are  not  reading  him;  and 
that  is  almost  as  good,  I  suppose." 

It  was  a  hot  summer  night,  and  while  thus  con- 
versing, they  had  stepped  out  into  a  balcony  full  of 


44  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

flowers,  that  hung  over  the  street.  The  ballroom;, 
boked  gay  and  fairy-like,  seen  under  the  festooned 
arch  of  bright-tinted  drapery,  like  a  new  world  of 
radiant  lights  and  lovely  colors — apart,  yet  so  near 
— of  which  they  did  not  form  a  portion  ;  and  yet, 
viewing  it  as  they  did,  from  the  cool,  calm  outer 
world,  where  they  stood  alone,  which  appeared  as  if 
it  had  been  created  only  that  they  might  so  view  it. 
They  stood  leaning  their  backs  against  the  railing  of 
the  balcony,  looking  into  the  ballroom,  when,  sud- 
denly, the  dwellers  therein  began  to  pass  in  couples 
across  the  room,  all  going  in  the  same  direction,  and 
there  disappearing  and  not  returning  again. 

"Where  are  they  going?"  asked  Miranda. 

"  To  supper,"  replied  Lady  Gregory's  nephew  ;  and 
he  offered  her  his  arm,  and  prepared  to  re-enter  the 
room. 

As  he  did  so,  the  window  in  the  next  house — that 
house  where  Miranda  lived,  and  which  also  looked 
into  a  balcony,  divided  from  the  one  in  which  they 
stood  by  only  a  low  railing — was  thrown  open  by 
some  one  in  the  room  inside.  A  bright  idea  at  the 
same  moment  struck  Miranda — an  idea  which  she 
accepted  with  regret,  and  yet  which  she  felt  must  be 
acted  on.  At  intervals  during  that  splendidly  happy 


LADY  GREGORY'S  NEPHEW.  45 

evening,  a  vague  uneasiness  had  filled  her  mind  as  to 
how  she  could  return.  It  had  been  easy  to  get  there, 
but  how — how — how — how  could  she  return  back 
again  ?  How,  even  if  she  managed  to  escape,  could 
she  stand  alone  on  the  door-steps  of  her  own  house  in 
the  late  night  or  early  morning  hours,  and  ring  the 
bell  and  knock?  If  a  servant  was  roused  by  the 
sounds  she  made,  or  her  landlady  herself,  how  could 
she  explain  what  she  had  been  doing,  to  account  for 
her  being  alone  at  that  hour  on  the  door-steps  in 
Miss  Hitchcock's  wedding  dress  ?  And  if  no  one 
was  roused,  there  would  be  policemen,  and  possibly, 
passers-by,  to  stare  at  her  and  wonder  who  she  was, 
and,  perhaps,  even  to  stop  and  ask  her  questions. 

Now  a  means  of  escape  seemed  offered  to  her  as 
unexpected  as  it  was  easy.  She  was  aware  that  a 
gentleman  had  taken  the  drawing-room  floor  only 
that  day.  He  had  probably  spent  the  evening  out, 
and  on  his  late  return  had  opened  the  window.  It 
was  as  if  it  had  been  all  done  only  for  her. 

She  looked  at  her  partner,  her  eyes  full  of  regret. 
Oh  !  how  happy  she  was,  and  how  she  liked  him ! 
Never  had  she  conversed  in  this  way  with  anyone 
before ;  never  had  she  liked  anyone  half  so  much. 
Of  course  she  should  never  see  him  again — never 


46  MJSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

speak  to  him  again.  Of  course  he  would  not  give 
her  another  thought  ;  but  she  should  remember  him 
all  her  life — he  would  have  a  niche  in  her  heart 
entirely  his  own  ;  and  when  she  was  an  old  woman, 
she  knew  she  should  still  think  with  delight  of  this 
wonderful  evening,  and  of  the  man  who  had  danced 
with  her  on  it — "  Yes,  I  am  sure  I  shall,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "unless  I  am  a  very  ungrateful  old 
woman." 

Just  reflect  for  one  moment  what  her  life  was,  and 
what  this  evening  must  have  been  to  her. 

She  did  not  take  his  arm,  and  she  looked  at  him 
•very  sorrowfully. 

"  It  is  too  warm  for  supper.  I  could  not  eat  any- 
thing," she  said.  "  If  you  would  bring  me  a  glass 
of  lemonade  here,  would  you  ?  I  should  be  so  much 
obliged." 

He  was  gone  directly. 

"  Oh  !  why  was  he  in  such  a  hurry  ?  Alas  !  "  she 
sighed  "  he  is  gone,  and  I  shall  never  see  him 
again."  She  felt  so  much  more  moved  than  she 
had  expected  to  do,  or  could  at  all  understand,  that 
she  stood  for  the  moment  like  one  bewildered. 
"  Oh  !  I  should  like  to  run  after  him,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "just  for  one  minute.  Why  did  I  not  thank 


LAD  Y  GREGOR  Y'S  NEPHE  W.  ^ 

him  for  having  made  me  so  happy  ?  How  heartless 
I  was  !  and  I  shall  never  see  him  again."  And  then 
she  found  that  she  had  been  crying. 

So  she  thought  it  was  time  to  act,  and  after  look- 
ing about  her  as  if  she  was  afraid  of  being  seen  (as 
indeed  she  was),  she  softly  and  nimbly  climbed  over 
the  railing  that  divided  the  two  balconies,  and  stood 
in  the  one  that  belonged  to  the  drawing-room  of  her 
own  house.  The  window,  as  we  said  before,  was 
wide  open.  A  light  streamed  through  it,  which 
seemed  dim  enough  to  Miranda's  eyes,  still  spark- 
ling, as  it  were,  from  the  brilliant  illuminations  in 
the  ballroom.  Probably  it  was  a  single  candle, 
lighted  by  the  new  lodger  on  his  return  home. 
Happy  man  !  he  had  a  latch-key,  and  so  could  let  him- 
self in  at  any  hour  he  pleased,  and  no  one  who  saw 
him  at  any  hour  of  the  night,  standing  on  the  door- 
steps and  opening  the  door  with  it,  would  feel  the 
faintest  emotion  even  of  a  surprise,  and  this  only 
just  because  he  was  a  man  and  not  a  woman.  Mi- 
randa was  not  at  all  inclined  to  stand  up  for  the 
rights  of  women  ;  but  it  did  occur  to  her  at  that 
moment,  as  a  great  injustice,  that  only  men  should 
be  allowed  a  latch-key. 

And  now,  where  was  the  lodger,  and  what  was  he 


48  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS.    ' 

doing  ?  If  she  could  only  know  whether  he  had  his 
back  to  the  window  or  not.  If  he  had,  she  might 
glide  in,  and  pass  so  noiselessly  and  gently  across 
the  room,  that  he  would  not  know  she  was  there  till 
she  was  gone. 

Time  was  precious.  It  was  no  use  hesitating ; 
she  must  act  at  once,  and  bear  the  consequences, 
whatever  they  might  be. 

And  so  she  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  open 
French  window  and  entered  the  room. 

A  single  candle  burned  on  the  table  in  the  centre. 
A  man  was  standing — yes,  actually  with  his  back  to 
the  window,  stooping  over  another  small  table  in  the 
corner  just  opposite  the  door. 

Miranda  glided  forward  like  a  ghost,  but  as  she 
did  so — was  it  mere  accident  ?  or  was  it  that  mys- 
terious consciousness  of  an  existence  beyond  our 
own  approaching  us,  which  we  have  all  of  us,  I  sup- 
pose, felt  in  one  way  or  other  (the  most  frequent  way, 
perhaps,  being  that  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  eyes  direct- 
ed towards  the  sleeping  face  will  recall  the  soul 
from  the  land  of  dreams,  and  bring  it  back,  startled 
and  half  reluctant,  to  this  work-a-day  world)  ? — what- 
ever was  the  cause,  whether  commonplace  or  meta- 
physical, the  new  lodger,  as  Miranda  entered  the 


LAD  Y  GREGOR  Y  'S  NEPHE  W,  4g 

room,  began  slowly  raising  himself  from  his  stooping 
posture  and  preparing  to  turn  round. 

She  perceived  the  danger,  and,  quick  as  thought, 
blew  out  the  candle.  "Hullo  !  "  cried  an  astonished, 
voice  ;  and  then,  as  she  made  her  way  rapidly  towards 
the  door,  a  match  was  suddenly  struck,  and  the  little 
blaze  of  light  directed  full  towards  her  retreating 
figure.  But  she  was  gone  ;  breathlessly  she  flew  up 
the  stairs.  Alas  !  the  gas  still  burned  on  the  stair- 
case. She  felt  rather  than  heard  she  was  pursued  ; 
but  the  door  was  yet  between  them,  and  she  had  a 
minute's  start  of  her  pursuer.  She  knew — and  he, 
of  course,  did  not — of  a  housemaid's  cupboard  full 
of  brooms  and  brushes  at  the  head  of  the  first  flight 
of  stairs,  the  door  of  which  was  papered  over  and 
scarcely  visible  ;  and  before  the  drawing-room  door 
opened,  and  the  amazed  new  lodger  made  his  appear- 
ance on  the  staircase,  Miranda — satin  dress,  lace 
flounces,  diamonds  and  all — was  safely  ensconced  in 
this  closet,  among  Nancy's  implements  for  making 
everything  clean  and  tidy  but  themselves. 

She  heard  him  walking  about  with  heavy  steps  in 
a  vague,  changeable  way  :  first  he  was  running, 
then  he  stopped,  then  seemed  to  be  taking  little 
turns  in  different  directions,  and,  as  she  thought 


5o  M/SS  HITCHCOCfCS  WEDDING  DRESS. 

softly  opening  doors  and  peeping  inside  them,  and 
every  now  and  then  she  heard  him  say,  "  By  Jove  ! " 

Poor  Miranda !  she  laughed  to  that  degree  that 
she  could  hardly  stand  ;  she  laughed  till  she  cried, 
and  till  the  suppression  of  all  sound,  and  the  violent 
effort  by  which  that  suppression  was  attained,  be- 
came actual  pain.  At  last,  however,  and  a  very  long 
at  last  it  seemed  to  the  imprisoned  girl,  she  heard 
the  unfortunate  new  lodger  return  to  his  room  ;  and 
then,  after  a  delay  of  a  few  moments,  from  the  fear 
that  he  might  make  another  raid,  she  liberated  her- 
self from  her  uncomfortable  and  cramped  position, 
and  fled  noiselessly  up  stairs  to  her  garret. 

There  lay  Sophy  in  heavy,  undisturbed  sleep  ; 
and  there  Miranda  divested  herself  of  all  her  lovely 
borrowed  plumes.  She  looked  around  on  the  shabby 
garret  she  knew  so  well,  with  its  sloping  roof,  rick- 
ety furniture,  and  carpetless  floor,  and  crept  into  the 
bed  where,  night  after  night,  she  had  lain  so  sleepily 
down  by  Sophy's  side,  and  she  wondered  whether 
she  was  indeed  the  same  girl  who  had  been  waltz- 
ing in  the  brilliant  ballroom  with  Lady  Gregory's 
nephew,  or  whether  she  should  not,  on  waking  the 
following  morning,  find  that  it  was  all  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AT    MADAME    LA    GAl's. 

THE  next  morning  Sophy  was  ill.  Poor,  pa- 
tient, hard-working  Sophy !  She  lifted  h^-r 
head  from  her  pillow  to  find  it  all  light  and  giddy  ; 
and  when  she  tried  to  get  up,  she  fainted  away. 
Her  fainting  roused  Miranda,  wrapped  in  the 
soundest,  sweetest  sleep  by  her  side.  She  rose 
hastily  to  attend  on  her  sister,  and  had  replaced  her 
in  bed,  restored  her  fluttering  senses,  rapidly  dressed 
herself,  and  made  poor  Sophy  some  hot  tea,  before 
— her  eye  happening  to  fall  on  the  satin  dress 
hanging  on  the  door — the  wonderful  events  of  the 
preceding  evening  flashed  on  her  mind.  Up  to 
that  moment  she  had  forgotten  them  as  entirely  as 
if  they  had  never  happened  ;  and  when  they  came 
back  to  her  memory,  they  came  all  at  once  with  a 
sudden  rush,  and  she  recognized  them  as  a  part  of 
her  life  which  had  somehow  wrought  a  change  ;  if 
not,  alas  !  in  that  life,  at  least  in  her  who  led  it. 


5  2  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

First  of  all,  as  she  looked  at  the  dress,  she  gave 
a  great  start,  and  a  crimson  blush  spread  all  over 
her  beautiful  face ;  then  she  laughed — a  little, 
chuckling,  child-like  laugh — and  then  tears  came 
into  her  sweet  eyes  and  hung  on  their  long  dark 
lashes. 

"Poor  Sissy!"  she  said;  " poor, poor  Sissy!  so 
ill,  and  with  nothing  pleasant  to  think  of  !  " 

She  kissed  her  vehemently.  Sophy  opened  her 
tired  eyes,  and  saw  lovely  Miranda  standing  there 
kissing  her,  as  brilliant  as  a  morning  in  the  depth  of 
June,  her  lips  still  smiling,  and  the  bright  color  in 
her  cheeks  seeming  all  the  pinker  for  the  tears 
glittering  on  it. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that?"  she  said  in  her  weary 
voice,  faint  and  hoarse  now  from  illness. 

"  I  love  you  so,  Sissy,"  said  Miranda.  "  I  am  so 
sorry  for  you.  I  wish  you  had  been  at  a  ball  last 
night." 

Sophie  stared  at  her. 

"  Wish  what  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  that  you  had  something  pleasant  to  think 
of  ! "  cried  Miranda,  impatiently.  "  All  the  pleas- 
ures in  your  life  have  become  pains  when  you  re- 
member them.  They  are  pains  now,  just  because 


AT  MADAME  LA  GA1-*.  53 

they  were  pleasures  then  ;  and  that  is  so  hard  upon 
you,  that  I  can  hardly  bear  it." 

"  It  won't  matter  when  I  am  dead,"  replied 
Sophy,  so  quietly,  and  with  such  a  .wild  look  in  her 
eyes,  that  the  contrast  between  her  voice  and  her 
eyes  was  quite  horrible. 

Miranda  gave  a  little  scream,  and  rushed  down 
stairs  to  call  Mrs.  Green,  their  friendly  landlady,  to 
her  sister. 

"  Dear  heart !  "  said  that  good  woman,  when  she 
had  examined  the  patient,  "  the  poor  thing's  just 
worn  out  like,  and  no  wonder,  it's  that  weary  stitch- 
ing and  stitching,  and  no  pleasure  at  all ;  and  she's 
feverish  ;  it's  rest  she  wants,  Miss  Miranda,  and 
then,  when  she's  better,  a  Llow  of  country  air  on 
her  white  cheeks  to  make  her  strong  again.  Poor 
lady  !  she's  too  quiet  under  her  troubles  ;  and 
so  she  goes  on  and  on,  and  nobody  knowin", 
till  a  day  comes  when  she  breaks  down  ail  at 
onct." 

By  this  time  Sophy  had  sunk  into  a  heavy  sleep, 
and  Miranda  began,  slowly  and  sorrowfully,  to  put 
the  finery  in  which  she  had  been  so  happy  the  night 
before  carefully  away. 

Afterwards    she    sat  in  the  little   parlor  below 


j4  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

making  a  black  silk  mantle,  which  was  part  of  Miss 
Hitchcock's  trousseau. 

What  a  life  it  was  for  a  young  girl  to  lead — born 
a  gentlewoman,  bred  among  green  fields,  sweet 
English  gardens,  and  furze-scented  commons — to 
sit  there  working  all  day  long  in  a  dingy  room  look- 
ing into  a  dingier  court,  the  only  creature  belonging 
to  her  lying  ill  in  bed  worn  out  with  hardships,  and 
she  conscious  that  if  she  ceased  working  they  might 
both  starve ! 

And  yet,  while  she  sat  there  busily  plying  her 
needle,  she  sang. 

First  she  just  warbled  little  snatches  of  melody, 
that  floated  round  her  for  a  moment,  as  the  bright 
young  voice  sent  them  forth  into  the  world,  and 
then  disappeared — somehow  and  somewhere — but 
how  and  where  ?  Did  they  cease  to  exist,  dying 
almost  at  their  birth  ?  or  do  they  still  live  ?  and  do 
all  sweet  sounds  once  uttered  live  on  through  all 
ages  and  give  pleasure  for  ever  ? 

Then  after  a  time  she  sang  the  following  song: — 

"  I  will  rob  the  linnet 

On  his  leafy  throne 
Of  the  sweetest  minute 
He  has  ever  known. 


AT  MADAME  LA  GAFS.  55 

"  Listen  to  his  chanting, 
Undismayed  by  art ; 
Nothing  can  be  wanting 
In  a  linnet's  heart. 

"  All  my  life  hath  given — 

All  the  joys  that  live — 
Ev'rything  but  Heaven 
I  will  gladly  give, 

"  Just  to  be  one  minute, 
Ere  my  life  is  done, 
Happy  as  a  linnet 
Singing  to  the  sun." 

Then  she  began  to  laugh.  "  Such  nonsense ! "  she 
said  ;  "  as  if  a  linnet  was  happier  than  a  girl  !  Why, 
it  can't  dance !  I  can  sing,  and  I  can  dance,  too, 
and  it  can  only  sing.  Why,  if  I  was  in  a  tree,  and 
my  face  turned  up  to  the  sweet  blue  sky,  and  I 
singing,  I  would  defy  any  linnet  to  be  one  bit  hap- 
pier than  I  should  be  there  ;  and  after  that  I  could 
dance,  and  a  poor  little  linnet  could  only  fly;  and  I 
fly  in  my  dreams.  I  have  often  flown  when  I'm 
asleep,  and  its  not  to  compare  with  dancing.  Do 
birds  dream,  I  wonder  ?  and  do  they  dance  in  their 
dreams?  That  would  make  a  difference,  I  admit. 
But  the  happiest  dreams  are  not  so  happy  as  hap- 
•piness  !  Happiness  is  such  a  delicious  thing  ;  there 


56  MSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

is  nothing  like  it — nothing  !  It  always  seems  to  me 
as  if  we  were  made  for  happiness,  and  all  the  rest 
was  a  mistake.  Just  like  fine  weather — beautiful,  fine 
weather  is  the  real  thing,  and  the  rain  is  just  a 
mistake ;  but  not  clouds — they  are  so  lovely ! 
Clouds  are  sometimes  the  loveliest  thing  on  earth, 
only  they  are  not  qn  earth  ;  they  are  in  the  sky,  and 
perhaps  that  is  why  they  are  more  beautiful  than 
anything  else.  They  are  near  heaven,  and  that 
may  be  why  happiness  is  so  beautiful ;  for  in 
heaven  everyone  will  be  happy — poor  Sissy  and 
all !  Only  I  do  wish  Sissy  to  be  happy  out  of 
heaven  first.  Oh  !  I  do  wish  Sissy  to  be  happy  !  " 

Thus  Miranda's  thoughts  ran  on  from  one  thing 
to  another  ;  but,  run  on  as  they,  might,  they  were 
all  as  sweet  and  bright  and  innocent  as  her  face. 

Presently  Mrs.  Green  came  into  the  room,  bring- 
ing her  scanty  repast — a  bit  of  cold  mutton  and  a 
potato. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  "  I  fetched  a  cup  of  tea  up 
to  Miss  Sophy,  and  she's  taken  it  and  a  morsel  of 
toast,  and  now  she's  gone  to  sleep  again.  Poor 
thing !  she's  tired  out  ;  and  if  I  believe  in  Adam, 
Miss  Miranda,  I  believe  that  tired  out  is  just  the 
only  thing  that's  the  matter  with  her  ;  I  do,  indeed.". 


AT  MADAME  LA  GArs.  57 

"  Well,  I  must  work  "double,  then,  and  try  to  rest 
her,"  said  Miranda,  'cheerfully.  "  I  like  working 
double — it  makes  me  feel  strong  and  big." 

"  Bless  your  innocent  heart,"  said  the  landlady  ; 
"  eat  your  dinner,  and  don't  tire  yourself  out  too. 
That's  the  best  thing  to  do  the  poor  body  up  stairs 
good,  or  to  make  you  big-and  strong  either." 

Then  Miranda  ate  her  dinner,  and  Mrs.  Green 
waited  on  her. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  confidentially,  "  that's  a  queer 
gent  we've  got  on  our  first  floor." 

Miranda  blushed  crimson  and  laughed  softly. 

"  He's  been  and  saw  a  ghost  immediate,"  said 
Mrs.  Green ;  "  and  no  one  ever  see'd  a  ghost  on  these 
premises  before — not  in  any  number  of  weeks,  let 
alone  the  first  evening." 

Miranda  opened  her  eyes  wide. 

"  What  was  the  ghostlike  ?  "  asked  she.   . 

"  Like  a  pretty  woman,  he  says,,  dressed  all  in 
white — but,  in  course,  it  was  dressed  in  white — that 
follows,  for  ghosts  always  is  ;  it  would  be  unnatural 
like  if  they  wasn't,  in  course." 

"  And  what  did  it  do  ?" 

"  Well,  it  appeared — and  it  couldn't  help  that 
nei'Aer — there's  not  much  fault  to  be  found  with  it 


5  8  MIZS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

for  that ;  for,  as  a  ghost,  it  could  not  do  much  else, 
I  suppose." 

"  And  was  that  all  ?  " 

"  Dear  me,  no  ;  that  wasn't  all,  miss.  It  did  what 
no  ghost  has  any  call  to  do  that  I  ever  heared  tell 
of — it  blew  out  the  candle." 

"  Good  gracious,  Mrs.  Green  !  what  a  thing  for  a 
ghost  to  do  !  " 

"  Well,  leastways,  miss,  the  candle  went  out  some- 
how— the  thing  appeared,  and  the  candle  went  out 
— and  then  the  first  floor  struck  a  light,  he  did,  and 
sees  the  white  thing  just  whisking  through  the 
door  ;  and  he  follers  it,  he  does,  and  finds  nothing 
at  all,  nowhere." 

"And  did  he  really  believe  it  was  a  ghost?" 

"  Not  at  first,  miss.  He  questioned  me  as  to 
every  woman  there  was  in  the  house,  and  I  told 
him  there  was  myself  and  the  cook  and  Nancy  ;  and 
he  sniggered,  the  first  floor  did,  and  he  says,  says  he, 
it  wasn't  none  of  we ;  so  I  said  there  was  Mrs. 
Jones  and  the  two  Miss  Jones's  in  the  front  parlor ; 
so  he  questions  me  about  them  sharp,  and  I  tells 
him  Mrs.  Jones  is  a  fine  woman  of  forty-five,  and 
the  Miss  Jones's  are  her  husband's  sisters,  and  no 
younger  than  she,  and  just  like  other  ladies  who  don't 


AT  MADAME  LA  GAPS.  59, 

get  married  when  they  are  young  ;  so  he  sniggered 
again,  the  first  floor  did — he's  a  one  for  sniggering, 
he  is — and  he  says  it  wasn't  them  at  all ;  and  I  says, 
says  I,  of  course  it  wasn't,  or  anyone  else  neither, 
but  just  that  he'd  fallen  asleep  on  his  sopha  and 
dreamt  it ;  and  then  he  asks,  the  first  floor  does,  is 
there  nobody  else  in  the  house  at  all  ;  and  I  says 
nobody  at  all  ;  and  then  I  tells  him  of  you  and  Miss 
Sophy,  and  that  you'd  both  been  in  your  bed  for 
hours  and  hours  and  hours  when  he  came  home  ; 
and  then  he  says,  says  he,  very  well,  then,  of  course 
it  must  have  been  a  ghost,  for  it  was  nobody  at  all,  . 
and  he'd  seen  it  evident  ;  and  he  never  slept  on 
the  sopha,  and  wouldn't  have  such  a  thing  evened 
to  him  ;  and  he  never  took  a  drop  too  much,  and  he 
hadn't  had  a  drop  then  at  all,  and  he  hoped  he 
could  stand  a  great  deal  more  than  he'd  took 
that  evening  without  seeing  ghosts  ;  so  I  just  said, 
more  shame  for  him,  and  left  him  there.  But  I'm 
afraid  he's  wild,  Miss  Miranda,  and  I  shall  give  him 
notice  to  quit  if  it  happens  again,  for  I  couldn't 
have  ghosts  seen  in  my  house — it  might  give  it  a 
bad  name — and,  for  my  own  part,  I  can't  abide  the 
creatures,  and  never  could." 

"  Oh    dear,    Mrs.  Green ! "    said    Miranda,    quite 


6o  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDLVG  DRESS. 

alarmed  ;  "  I  wouldn't  give  the  poor  man  notice  to 
quit  on  that  account — I  wouldn't,  indeed.  Probably 
nothing  more  will  happen  ;  and  it  would  be  very 
hard  upon  him — very.'' 

"  Then  why  does  he  go  for  to  see  ghosts,  miss  ? " 
replied  Mrs.  Green,  with  unusual  sharpness. 

For  two  days  Miranda  nursed  Sophy  assiduously, 
working  by  her  bedside,  and  never  leaving  the  house. 
And  just  as  brave  and  cheerful  was  she  as  if  she 
lived  in  a  gay,  happy  home  the  life  of  pleasant  ease 
led  by  the  generality  of  young  ladies  in  England. 
On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  she  was  obliged 
to  leave  her  sister  to  go  to  Madame  La  Gai's  show- 
rooms. Occasionally,  Sophy  was  expected  to  ap- 
pear in  the  show-rooms — an  employment  which  she 
always  kept  to  herself,  and  in  which  she  never 
allowed  Miranda  to  assist ;  but  to-day  there  was  no 
help  for  it ;  Sophy  could  not  go,  and  so  Miranda 
must. 

To  tell  the  truth,  she  rather  liked  the  idea — there 
was  novelty  in  it — change  and  variety  ;  and  though 
Miranda  never  found  herself  consciously  wishing 
for  change,  she  welcomed  it,  when  it  came,  with 
delight. 

She  put  on  the  black  silk  skirt  in  which  Sophy 


AT  MADAME  LA  GAFS.  61 

usually  attired  herself  for  these  occasions,  and  her 
own  little  Sunday  bonnet,  which,  thanks  to  the 
fashion  of  bonnets,  was  as  pretty,  foolish,  and  be- 
coming as  the  most  expensive  head-dress  turned  out 
by  Madame  Elise  could  probably  be,  though  it  had 
been  made  by  her  own  ringers,  at  the  cost  of  a  few 
shillings. 

She  smiled  at  herself  in  the  glass. 

"You  don't  look  half  so  pretty,  dear,"  said  she, 
"as  you  did  in  diamonds  and  white  satin  ;  but  that 
doesn't  matter.  You  are  not  going  to  dance,  and  '' — 
with  a  little  pause  and  a  little  sigh,  and  an  almost 
reluctant  dwelling  on  the  words — "you  wont  meet 
Lady  Gregory's  nephew."  And  so  she  kissed 
Sophy  with  the  tenderest  kisses,  and,  tripping  out 
of  the  house,  sought  Madame  La  Gai's  handsome 
private  residence  in  George  Street. 

When  she  went  up  into  the  bonnet  and  mantle 
room,  the  first  person  her  eye  rested  on  was  a  tall, 
slight,  fashionable-looking  lady,  with  a  dark,  cross, 
ugly  face. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  thought  Miranda.  "  I  know  I 
have  seen  her  before.  Who  can  she  be  ?  Oh  !  is  it 
possible?  Yes,  to  be  sure — poor,  plain  thing!  —  it 
really  is  Miss  Plitchcock.  How  cross  she  looks ! 


62  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

What  a  horrid  fellow  Mr.  Cressingham  must  be  to 
marry  her  !  Oh  !  I  had  fifty  thousand  times  rather 
be  my  poor,  little,  young,  hard-worked  self  than 
that  rich,  ill-tempered  woman  who  is  going  to  be 
married  for  her  money." 

"  Put  it  on  that  young  person's  shoulders,"  said 
a  remarkably  pleasant  voice,  that  quite  took  Miranda 
by  surprise,  proceeding  as  it  did  from  the  cross, 
plain  face  she  was  passing  her  reflections  on.  "  Put 
it  on  that  young  person's  shoulders  ;  she  has  a  tol- 
erable figure,  and  one  might  judge  better  of  the 
effect." 

So  Miranda,  quite  new  to  the  work  as  she  was, 
•was  turned  round,  blushing  and  surprised,  to  have 
an  exquisite  little  bit  of  furbelow  and  froth — in 
which  lace,  gauze,  and  ribbon  somehow  managed  to 
keep  together,  and  to  make  a  sort  of  a  something 
which  might  adorn,  though  it  could  neither  warm 
nor  conceal  the  figure — thrown  over  her  slight  grace- 
ful shoulders. 

Miss  Hitchcock  put  up  her  glass,  and  desired  her 
to  move  about,  while  she  scanned  the  furbelow  and 
froth  criticisingly,  but  with  evident  satisfaction. 

*'  Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  in  the  same  pleasant 
voice  ;  "  it's  not  so  bad — it  may  do — there's  some- 


AT  MADAME  LA  GAPS.  63 

thing  rather  novel  and  nice  about  it,  isn't  there  ? " 
Then,  suddenly  bringing  her  eye-glass  to  a  halt  on 
Miranda's  fair,  blushing  face,  and  with  a  puzzled  ex- 
pression on  her  own — "  Have  I  seen  that  young 
woman  here  before,  Madame  La  Gai  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  think  not/'  replied  Madame  La  Gai, 
slightly  annoyed,  and  casting  an  apologetic  glance 
at  Miranda. 

"  Her  face  seems  strangely  familiar  to  me.  A 
likeness,  I  suppose." 

"  She  is  like  Miss  Venables,"  said  a  lady  who 
accompanied  Miss  Hitchcock. 

"  Oh  no,  mamma  !  "  cried  another  ;  "  she  is  the 
very  image  of  that  pretty  girl  at  Lady  Gregory's 
ball  whom  Mr. " 

"  Hush  Maria,"  said  the  elder  lady. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Hitchcock,  slowly,  and  letting 
her  glass  drop  from  her  eye,  "  that  must  be  the  like- 
ness I  saw.  But  why  should  Maria  hush,  Mrs. 
Leslie  ?  Do  you  think  I  mind  ?  "  And  she  gave  a 
harsh,  scornful  laugh,  as  strikingly  unpleasant  as  her 
voice  was  the  reverse. 

Meantime,  Miranda  stood  blushing  and  out  of 
countenance,  but  so  much  amused,  that  her  pretty 
dimples  were  constantly  appearing. 


64  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Maria,  smiling  kindly  at  her,  "  it 
is  the  strongest  likeness  I  ever  saw.  You  don't 
mind  being  considered  like  a  great  beauty  who  made 
quite  a  sensation  at  Lady  Gregory's  ball,"  she  added, 
addressing  Miranda  in  a  tone  of  pleasant  patronage  ; 
"  do  you  ?  " 

"  But  I'm  not  a  beauty,  am  I  ? "  exclaimed 
Miranda. 

"  Well,  indeed,  I  think  you  are,"  replied  the  other 
girl,  laughing.  "  I'd  give  a  good  deal,  I  can  tell  you, 
to  have  such  a  complexion  as  yours,  without  pink 
and  white  polish." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Maria,"  said  her  mother  ;  "don't 
be  putting  ideas  into  the  young  woman's  head." 

"  But  what's  the  use  of  heads,  mamma,  unless  we 
have  ideas  in  them  ?  and  what  the  use  of  ideas  unless 
they  make  us  jolly  ?  and  there's  nothing  going  so 
awfully  jolly  as  knowing  we  are  pretty,"  said  Maria, 
a  delicate,  fragile  little  beauty,  who  looked  quite  unfit 
to  utter  the  slang  phrases  that  tripped  cheerfully  out 
of  her  small  rosebud  mouth. 

"  What  was  that  girl's  name  at  Lady  Gregory's 
ball  ?"  said  Miss  Hitchcock. 

"  I  asked  everybody,  and  nobody  knew,"  replied 
Mrs.  Leslie. 


AT  MADAME  LA  GAPS.  g- 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  nobody  then,  if  nobody 
knew,"  said  her  daughter.  "/  asked  nobody,  and  so 
I  can  tell  you.  She  was  a  Miss  Style — a  great  York- 
shire heiress  who  came  with  Mrs.  Nesbit.  Isn't  it 
hard  lines  on  nous  autres  that  such  a  beauty  should 
be  an  heiress  too.  I'll  bet  a  pony  she  sings.  Do 
you  sing  ?  "  turning  abruptly  to  Miranda. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  sing,"  she  replied,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  oh,  Miss  Hitchcock  !  we've  noth- 
ing to  do  till  the  carriage  comes.  Do  let  us  make 
her  sing.  You'll  sing,  won't  you,  you  counterpart  of 
Miss  Style  ? " 

"  Only  I'm  not  an  heiress,"  said  Miranda,  shaking 
her  head. 

"  Such  a  pity,  isn't  it  ?  But  perhaps  you  will  be 
some  day.  Some  rich  old  fellow  will  leave  you  a 
fortune,  or  some  rich  young  fellow  will  marry  you." 

"  Hush,  Maria,"  said  her  mother. 

"  But  maynt  she  sing,  mamma  ?  You  know  how 
we  want  a  soprano.  Wouldn't  she  just  do  ?  She 
sings  soprano,  of  course." 

"  How  can  you  be  so  nonsensical  ? " 

"  Well,  mamma,  if  we  don't  catch  such  a  catch  as 
this,  we  shall  be  doing  what  pulpit  men  are  always 

telling  us  not  to  do — what  is  it  ?     I  forget.     I  have 
5 


66  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIXG  DRESS. 

a  bad  head  for  words ;  but  it's  something  or  other 
about — what  is  it  now  ?  It's  not  investments,  or  di- 
gestion, is  it  ?  No,  no ;  those  are  the  two  things 
papa's  always  talking  of  ;  but  you  must  know  what 
1 1  mean,  mamma,  for  your  own  pet  parson  was 
going  on  at  us  about  it  at  a  precious  rate  only  last 
Sunday  morning.  Oh  !  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  for- 
got you  were  asleep  all  the  time,  so  you  couldn't  be 
expected  to  remember." 

"  How  could  I  help  dozing  a  little,  my  dear,  when 
you  kept  me  at  Mrs.  Venables'  ball  till  two  o'clock 
the  night  before  ? " 

"  Oh  !  nobody's  blaming  you — don't  cry  out  till 
you're  hurt — don't  defend  yourself  till  called  upon. 
But  I  have  it !  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about  at 
last — it's  privileges  !  Yes,  that's  what  clergymen 
are  always  talking  about — our  privileges  !  We're 
not  to  fly  in  the  face  of  our  privileges — and  here's 
one,  and  I  do  declare  you're  going  to  fly  in  its  face, 
mamma — you  are,  indeed.  Now  what  is  the  use 
of  going  to  church  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  pray  do  whatever  you  like,"  replied 
her  mother,  resignedly. 

"  Oh !  very  well.  I'm  glad  I've  reformed  you. 
A  reformed  parent  is  no  end  of  a  blessing.  Now, 


AT  MADAME  LA  GAPS.  67 

my  dear,  will  you  sing  us  a  pretty  song  directly, 
please,  so  that  we  may  see  if  you'll  do  !  " 

Miranda  stood  smiling,  and  now  and  then  laugh- 
ing a  little,  while  the  young  lady  was  running  on. 
Now  she  opened  her  eyes  wide  and  looked  about  her. 

"  But  am  I  really  to  sing  ? "  asked  she,  her  fair 
face  radiant  with  smiles. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  you  are,  you  pretty  creature  ! '' 
cried  Maria,  laughing  admiringly  at  her  in  her  turn 
as  she  spoke. 

Miranda  almost  raised  her  hand  to  clasp  that  of 
the  kindly,  fast,  fashionable  girl,  who  was  looking  at 
her  with  such  friendly  eyes  ;  but  the  impulse  was 
only  momentary,  and  her  hand  fell  by  her  side 
again.  And  then  suddenly  she  burst  forth  into  one 
of  her  quaint  old-world  songs,  not  at  that  time 
known  in  London  circles,  but  which  now,  I  believe, 
are  to  be  had  at  the  music-sellers'  shops  in  Regent 
Street. 

MIRANDA'S  SOXG. 

"  Where  are  the  words  so  sweet  and  gay  ? 

Alas  !  where  are  they  hidden  ? 
The  words  my  lips  were  meant  to  say  ? 
O  for  the  glory  of  a  day 

When  they  will  come  unbidden  ! 


68  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Those  I  speak  were  never  meant 

From  these  lips  of  mine  to  spring, 
Vaguely  bringing  discontent — 


"  Why  do  I  utter  word  on  word, 

Invented  and  amended  ? 
O  for  the  instinct  of  a  bird, 
Who  sings  not  what  is  most  preferred, 

But  what  was  first  intended  ! 
All  its  joy  I  covet  not — 

Happy  nest  and  plumage  gay — 
Could  I  only  utter  what 

I  were  meant  to  say  !  " 

For  a  few  minutes  the  room  was  full  of  the 
exquisite  music  and  the  strange  suggestive  words 
that  floated  about  among  bonnets  and  head-dresses, 
robes  de  chambres  and  promenade  dresses,  like 
mountain  breezes  in  a  ballroom. 

After  that  there  was  a  profound  silence. 

The  three  fashionable  women  stood  looking  at 
Miranda,  and  saying  not  a  word. 

At  last  Maria  spoke. 

"  Oh,  mamma!  "  she  cried,  "  it's  heaven,  isn't  it  ? 
We  must  have  her  for  our  charade." 

It  was  a  curious  jumble  of  ideas,  perhaps — heaven 
and  our  charade — but  Maria's  sweet,  fragile  face 


A  T  MADAME  LA   GATS.  69 

expressed  some  deeper  emotion  than  was  wont  to 
shine  there. 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  think  we  must,"  replied  Mrs. 
Leslie.     "  What  do  you  say,  Miss  Hitchcock  ?  " 

Miss  Hitchcock  said  nothing.     She  had  tears  on 
her  cheeks. 

Miranda  felt  her  gay  heart  almost  dismayed  as  she 
saw  the  brown,  hard,  ugly  woman  crying  at  her  song. 
"  Perhaps,"  said  she,  softly, "  she  is  the  best  of 
us  all." 

The  others  did  not  attend  to  her. 
"You  will  have  to  come  to   us?"  cried    Maria. 
"  You  see  mamma  says  so  too.     You  will  come, 
won't  you  ? " 

"  But  what  am  I  to  come  for  ? " 
"  Oh  !  to  be  soprano  in  our  charade.     Our  soprano 
has  gone  abroad,  and  we  won't  know  what  on  earth 
to  do  without  one,  and  you  are  such  an  awfully  nice 
little  thing." 

"  Am  I  really  ?  "  asked  Miranda,  simply.  "  I  didn't 
know  it." 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  ;  and  you  sing  like  a  bird  ;  and 
you've  a  very  good  form,  too,  and  altogether  very 
like  an  angel." 

"  I  really  think,  if  the  young  person  will  give  us 


>jo  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

her  address,"  said  Mrs.  Leslie,  "  that  some  arrange- 
ment might  be  made." 

"  Why,  you  live  here  with  Madame  La  Gai,  don't 
you  ?  "  said  Maria. 

"No,"  replied  Miranda,  "I  live  with  Sophy." 

"  Happy  Sophy  !  "  said  the  London  belle.  "  I 
should  like  to  live  with  you,  my  dear  ;  and  if  I  was 
a  man,  I'd  marry  you  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  if  I  would  marry  you,"  laughed  Miranda, 
confident  in  her  maiden  freedom  ;  "  and  Sophy  is 
not  one  bit  happy.  She  is  ill  now,  and  she  is  not 
happy  even  when  she  is  well." 

"  Are  we  to  stay  here  all  day  ? "  asked  Miss 
Hitchcock,  very  abruptly. 

"  I  thought  we  were  waiting  for — "  began  Mrs. 
Leslie. 

"  I  am  not  waiting  for  anyone,"  replied  Miss 
Hitchcock,  haughtily  ;  "  and  I  never  shall  think  of 
waiting  for  him.  I  made  an  appointment,  which  I 
kept  because  I  always  keep  my  appointments  ;  but 
if  other  people  don't,  /  don't  wait.  I  have  finished 
my  business.  Shall  we  go  ?" 

Her  harsh  words  were  spoken  in  her  peculiarly 
pleasant  voice,  and  ended  by  a  slight  unmirthful 
laugh,  as  harsh  as  themselves. 


AT  MADAME  LA  GAPS.  ^ 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,  by  all  means,"  replied  Mrs. 
Leslie,  a  little  flurried.  , 

"  But  where  do  you  live,  my  dear  ? "  said  Maria, 
addressing  Miranda. 

Miranda  gave  her  direction,  which  the  young 
lady  wrote  carefully  down  on  the  outside  of  her 
ivory  fan. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  either  send  for  you  to 
me,  or  I  shall  come  to  you,  and  then  we  can  settle 
everything,  can't  we  ? " 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  Miranda,  laughing,  "  I  sup- 
pose we  can." 

"What  a  joyous  thing  you  are!"  said  Maria, 
rather  enviously.  "  Are  you  always  laughing  ?  " 

"Yes,  generally,  I  think,"  was  the  reply,  with 
another  happy  little  laugh,  "  when  I'm  not  doing 
something  else." 

And  so  the  three  ladies  swept  out  of  the  room, 
and  the  young  dressmaker  remained  alone. 

She  moved  mechanically  into  the  window,  and 
watched  Maria  and  her  companions  get  into  a  very 
handsome  carriage  and  drive  away. 

"  How  curious  it  all  is  !  "  thought  she,  dreamily. 
"  Have  I  somehow  got  into  a  new  world  since  the 
moment  when  I  walked  down  our  door-steps  in  Miss 


•j2  MJSS  HITCHCOCICS  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Hitchcock's  wedding  dress  ?  Is  it  all  different,  and 
always  to  be  different?  and  will  the  old  monotonous 
days  never  return  ?  First  the  ball — now  meeting 
them  here,  and  that  Maria  making  me  sing — and 
this  charade  they  talk  of ;  will  that  be  the  next 
thing,  or  will  there  be  anything  else  between  now 
and  then  ?  We  must  not  get  dull  again,  my  life  ; 
must  we,  you  and  I  ?  But  were  we  dull  before  ? 
You  were,  I  do  believe  ;  but  was  I  ?  No.  I  wasn't 
one  bit ;  but  shall  I  be  now,  if  we  both  went  back 
again  to  the  old  thing?  Yes,  I  shall — and  that's 
how  it  has  been.  Now  I  understand  poor  Sophy. 
She  is  unhappy  because  she  knows  ;  and  I  didn't 
know,  and  now  I  do.  There  was  no  merit  in  my 
being  gay,  but  there  would  have  been  in  her  being 
so.  It's  like  what  papa — dear  papa — used  to  say 
about  courage — it's  nothing  at  all  unless  you  know 
what  the  danger  is ;  in  fact,  you  are  not  really 
courageous  unless  you  are  frightened — that's  only 
a  way  of  putting  it,  of  course ;  but  you  must  see 
and  appreciate  the  danger  before  you  can  show  true 
courage.  And  now,  what  I  have  got  to  do  is  to  be 
cheerful  and  happy,  though  my  eyes  are  opened, 
and  I  know  what  my  life  is,  and  what  it  might  be — 
if  I'm  not,  all  my  gay  spirits  were  mere  selfishness, 


AT  MADAME  LA  GAI'S.  73 

and  worse  than  worthless — that  will  be  a  sort  of 
courage,  and  I  believe  I  can  do  it.  I  feel  brave, 
and  I  love  Sophy."  And  if  ever  a  young  creature 
looked  at  once  brave  and  loving,  thus  looked  our 
Miranda,  as  she  stood  in  that  window,  her  cheeks 
rather  pinker,  and  her  eyes  more  radiant  than  usual, 
as  her  pure,  beautiful  soul,  full  of  these  new 
thoughts,  shone  through  them.  Unconsciously,  she 
was  gazing  into  the  streets  all  the  time,  and  uncon- 
sciously the  words  came  floating  back  into  her 
mind  with  hardly  their  full  sense  attached  to  them 
— "  But  will  the  charade  be  the  next  thing  ?  or  will 
there  be  something  else  between  this  and  then?" 
She  was  fully  awakened  to  her  meaning  by  what 
did  happen  at  that  very  moment. 

A  cabriolet,  with  a  splendid  horse  in  it,  and 
with  all  its  appointments,  as  even  her  ignorant  eyes 
could  see,  in  the  first  style,  dashed  up  to  the  door 
beneath  her  window,  and,  flinging  the  reins  to  his 
groom,  while  the  bright  bay  charger  stood  almost 
upright  on  his  hind  legs  with  the  sudden  shock 
of  the  halt,  Lady  Gregory's  nephew  jumped  out 
of  it. 

"  Was  he  come  as  an  answer  to  her  thoughts  ? " 
Blushing  deeply — of  course  only  from  the  surprise 


74  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

— and  with  her  heart  beating  rapidly — of  course 
from  the  same  cause  alone — Miranda  drew  back 
into  the  room. 

"  He  is  not  coming  in  here,  I  know,"  she  said, 
softly. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   TETE-A-TETE. 

AND  at  the  same  moment  he  entered  the  room. 
He  had  a  discontented,  irritated  air  about 
him,  which  did  not  prevent  her  noticing — perhaps 
for  the  first  time — how  handsome  he  was.  She  even 
thought  that  slightly  weary,  slightly  scornful  look 
suited  his  pale  face  and  finely-cut  features.  He 
glanced  round  him. 

"  No  one  here  ?  "  he  said,  just  aloud  ;  then  his  eye 
fell  on  her. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  not  a  very  ele- 
gant or  refined  salutation,  it  must  be  confessed,  but 
in  its  genuineness,  and  in  the  voice  in  which  it  was 
spoken,  expressing  volumes.  And  then  his  face 
lighted  up  in  the  most  extraordinary  manner.  Un- 
affected joy  took  possession  of  it,  and  a  dark-red 
color  actually  mounted  into  his  pale  cheeks. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  man  was  both 
astonished  and  delighted. 


76  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  And  all  at  seeing  me  !  "  thought  Miranda.  "  How 
very  nice ! " 

"  Is  it  you  ?  Is  it  possible  ?  "  cried  he.  "  How 
little  I  thought,  when  I  mounted  those  stairs — most 
unwillingly,  I  admit — that  each  step  I  took  was 
bringing  me  nearer  to  your  presence." 

"  Of  course,  you  didn't  think  it,"  replied  she, 
smiling. 

"  Yes ;  but  why  ? "  he  cried.  "  I  contend  that  I 
ousrht — that  it  is  hard  on  me  that  I  didn't — that  we 

o 

ougJit  to  have  instincts  and  perceptions,  and  that  it 
is  unfair  to  ourselves,  when  our  hearts  are  so  full  of 
them,  if  we  have  none  outside  our  hearts." 

"  I  wonder  whether  /  had,"  said  she,  a  little 
thoughtfully  ;  "  and  that  what  I  was  thinking  at  the 
moment  you  drove  up  meant  it." 

She  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  all,  or  any,  of 
what  this  speech  committed  her  to.  He  saw  that,  or 
the  look  of  joy  with  which  he  received  it  would  have 
been  dashed  with  disapproval,  and  perhaps  the  whole 
course  of  both  their  lives  might  have  been  changed 
only  by  that  one  speech. 

But  in  her  utter  unconsciousness  lay  her  charm, 
and  to  the  man  of  society  that  charm  was  deep  and 
potent. 


A   TETE-A-TETE.  77 

The  little  mantelet,  all  furbelow  and  froth,  still 
hung  on  her  shoulders,  and  her  bonnet,  as  I  have 
before  said,  would  pass  muster  anywhere.  She 
looked  like  a  fashionable  girl  with  the  face  and 
spirit  of  an  angel— though  as  angels  are  spirits,  I 
suppose  they  cannot  correctly  be  said  themselves  to 
possess  what  they  are. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,"  said 
Lady  Gregory's  nephew — "  at  the  opera,  in  the  park, 
and  all  in  vain  ;  and  then  I  find  you  here,  when  I 
am  neither  looking  for  you  nor  expecting  to  find  you." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  but  that  is  so  often 
the  case,  isn't  it  ?  The  things  come,  when  we  are 
not  thinking  about  them,  so  much  more  frequently 
than  when  we  are." 

"  It  would  be  difficult  for  you  to  come  when  I  am 
not  thinking  of  you,"  said  he ;  and  the  remark 
might  pass  for  one  of  easy  gallantry  with  those  who 
did  not  know  the  man,  and  so  could  not  perceive 
how  much  he  was  in  earnest 

"  Was  not  that  ball  charming  ?  "  said  she,  with 
some  abruptness,  but  only  because  her  mind  was 
still  full  of  the  ball. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  it  was  the  most  charming 
ball  I  ever  attended." 


78  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  And  you  have  been  at  so  many,"  said  Miranda, 
with  almost  a  sigh ;  "  and  that  is  my  only  one.  How 
odd  it  must  seem  to  have  been  to  a  great  many 
balls." 

"  But  you  will  go  to  a  great  many  too,"  answered 
he,  with  quite  a  smile.  "  Have  not  you  been  to  any 
since  ? " 

She  pursed  up  her  mouth  demurely,  and  glanced 
at  him  from  under  her  long  lashes. 

"  No,"  she  said,  emphatically,  "  not  to  one.  Isn't 
it  odd?" 

"  But  you  will,"  he  said;  "and  they  will  become 
mere  commonplaces  in  your  life,  and  at  last  be  re- 
garded as  necessary  troubles  ;  while  before  that — 
while  you  are  still  enjoying  them — that  first  ball 
will  fade  away  into  something  poor  and  insignif- 
icant." 

"Yes,  that  is  likely,  isn't  it?"  cried  she,  indig- 
nantly. "  That  would  be  mere  ingratitude.  I  think 
it  is  so  mean  and  ungrateful  to  feel  in  that  way 
about  things  that  did  all  they  could  for  you  at  the 
time,  because  other  happy  things  have  happened 
since." 

"  And  yet  we  all  do,  don't  we  ?  "  said  he. 

"  No,  we  all  don't — I  don't.     I  love  all  my  child- 


A   TETE-A-TETE.  jg 

ish  treats  still,  just  because  they  were  such  treats 
then." 

"  Do  you  really  ? — cowslip  balls,  donkey  rides, 
and  everything  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  You  laugh  at  me,  but  I  djpn't  care. 
I  won't  despise  one  of  them.  I  love  everything 
nice  that  ever  happened  to  me.  I  think  I  love  them 
all  the  more  because  I  shouldn't  care  for  them  now ; 
because — ah  !  I'm  stupid,  and  can't  express  what  I 
mean,  but  anybody  must  understand  it.  You  do, 
don't  you  ?  Dont  you  feel  it  too  ?  " 

What  man  could  have  resisted  that  don't,  and 
those  eyes  fixed  so  pathetically  upon  him  ?  Cer- 
tainly not  Lady  Gregory's  nephew.  Perhaps  there 
was  nothing  in  the  world  he  would  not  have 
declared  he  understood  and  felt,  if  so  adjured.  At 
all  events,  he  expressed  complete  and  undivided 
allegiance  to  the  sentiments  she  now  uttered,  add- 
ing, when  he  had  done  so,  with  a  sincere  and 
unwonted  humility — 

"  I  have  not  always  thought  of  pleasures  in  that 
light  before,  but  it  has  been  from  want  of  considera- 
tion more  than  from  want  of  understanding.  It  is 
a  duty  of  the  affections  that  I  recognize  the 
moment  it  is  put  before  me." 


go  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"A  duty  of  the  affections  ? "  said  she,  with  an  air 
of  examination.  "  I  suppose  it  is,  though  it  had 
not  occurred  to  me  "  and  she  gave  him  the  sweet- 
est little  look  of  respect  possible.  "  I  like  to  think 
of  it  so." 

A  thrill  of  happiness,  the  intensity  of  which 
amazed  hin\,  went  all  through  him  as  he  met  that 
glance  of  bright  de'erence. 

"  We  are  very  different,  I  suppose,"  said  he ; 
"  but  see  how  we  feel  alike.  The  difference  is  in 
our  lives  only,  perhaps." 

"  In  that  very  past  we  were  speaking  of,"  replied 
she,  thoughtfully ;  "  it  makes  all  the  difference  in 
people,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  makes  a  great  difference,  but " 

"It  is  the  background.  Do  you  know,  I  dis- 
covered to-day  that  our  backgrounds  make  us." 

"  You  discovered  that  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that  the  figures  in  a  picture  come  out  and 
look  just  what  their  background  chooses.  You 
have  a  background  full  of  balls.  How  strange  it 
must  seem  !  I  have  only  one  ball  in  my  back- 
ground !  Now,  you  can't  think  how  that  one  ball 
has  changed  me.  It  is  like  some  great  light  put 
suddenly  into  the  background  of  a  picture." 


A  TETE-A-TETE.  8 1 

"Just  a  great  piece  of  happiness,"  said  he,  smil- 
ing. 

"Oh  no,"  she  replied,  shaking  her  head;  "not 
only  that.  Did  you  think  that  was  all !  " 

"  Why,  what  else  is  it  ? " 

"The  great  light  in  the  background  does  not 
only  make  light  ;  it  shows  Jioiv  dark  some  of  the 
other  parts  really  are,"  said  she,  quite  sorrowfully. 

He  looked  at  her  now*with  surprise,  as  he  felt 
how  unlike  she  was  to  the  other  girls  he  knew. 

"  You  are  very  young,"  he  said,  "  to  have  thought 
so  much." 

"  What !  I  ? "  she  cried,  laughing.  "  Why,  I  have 
never  thought  at  all !  " 

"  Then  you  are  extremely  clever." 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  "  /  am  not  clever ;  Sophy  is." 

"  Sophy  must  be  wonderful,  if  she  is  cleverer  than 
you  are." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me.  Sophy  is  everything  that 
anybody  could  be,  or  ought  to  be.  She  is  so  good 
and  so  poor  and  so  old."  This  was  spoken  with 
quite  a  little  burst  of  enthusiasm.  "  Oh !  I  am 
sorry  for  Sophy." 

"  So  am  I,  I'm  sure,  though  I  am  not  accustomed 
to  think  much  about'poor  old  people.  Why  do  you 

6 


82  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

call  her  Sophy,  if  she  is  so  very  old  ?  Sophy 
sounds  young,  but  I  suppose  she  is  an  aunt,  or 
something  of  that  sort  ?  " 

"  She  is  my  sister,  and  she  is  ten  years  older  than 
I  am ! " 

"  Oh — h  !  I  see — she  is  old  in  that  sort  of  way  ! 
Now  I  understand.  Do  you  know,  you  have  made 
me  feel  quite  anxious  to  make  Sophy's  acquaintance. 
Do  you  think  there  is  anj-  chance  that  I  might  be 
introduced  to  her  ?  " 

But  Miranda  shook  her  head,  and  looked  inexor- 
able. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  think  there  is  the  slight- 
est." 

An  expression  of  great  disappointment  came  into 
his  face. 

"  I  am  going  to  dine  at  Mrs.  Nesbit's  on  Thurs- 
day," he  said,  in  rather  an  offended  manner. 

"  Are  you  ? " 

"  Yes.  I  have  not  dined  there  for  ages  ;  and  I 
had  not  meant  to  go  there  ;  but  I  do  so  only  for  the 
happiness  of  meeting  you."  His  manner  was  still 
that  of  a  person  slightly  offended. 

But  Miranda  laughed,  and  made  no  other  reply  to 
his  words  than  by  her  gay  yet  gentle  laugh. 


A  TETE-A-TETE.  83 

"  And  where  else  shall  I  meet  you  ?  "  he  asked, 
earnestly,  the  shade  of  hauteur  going  out  of  his 
voice  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  "  unless  per- 
haps, at  Mrs.  Leslie's  charade  party. 

She  could  not  help  saying  this ;  the  words  sug- 
gested themselves  to  her  even  while  she  was  speak- 
ing, and  her  tongue  littered  them  without  consulting 
her  brain. 

He  caught  at  the  idea.  "Will  you  really  be 
there  ?  "  he  cried,  delighted. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  answered  ;  "  I'm  not  sure,  but 
perhaps  I  might." 

"  Then  I  will  certainly  go,  even  on  the  chance ; 
but  I  won't  perform  unless  you  do.  Are  you  to  be 
among  the  audience  or  the  performers  ?  You  will 
tell  me,  won't  you  ? "  speaking  ingratiatingly  ;  "  and 
then  I  shall  know  what  to  do  myself." 

"  Well,  if  I  go,"  said  Miranda,  excessively  amused, 
and  feeling,  while  she  carried  on  the  jest,  as  if  she 
was  even  now  taking  a  part  in  a  charade,  the  answer 
to  which  had  yet  to  be  guessed.  "Ifl  go,  I  should 
very  probably  help  them  as  soprano." 

"  Oh  !  you  sing  ?  "  he  said.  "  That  is  delightful. 
I  might  have  guessed  that.  You  look  it." 


84  JfSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Maria 'has  asked  me  to  sing,"  said  Miranda,  with 
admirable  gravity,  and  promising  herself  a  hearty  fit 
of  laughter  as  a  reward  when  it  was  all  over,  and  he 
was  gone. 

"  They  were  here,  then,  were  they  ? "  asked  he, 
his  countenance  falling  a  little,  like  one  to  whom  some 
unpleasant  reality  had  suddenly  occurred,  while  the 
play  element  in  his  nature  was  all  aglow. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Leslie  and  Maria  and  Miss  Hitch- 
cock." 

"  Ah  well !  never  mind  ;  they  are  gone  ;  let  them 
go."  Was  he  speaking  to  himself  or  to  her  ? 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  she,  laughing. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  what  it  is  to  be  very 
abruptly  wakened  out  of  a  very  happy  dream  ? " 

"  The  dazed  feeling  ? "  said  she.     "  Oh  yes  !  " 

"  And  the  instantaneous  bitter  certainty  that  it  is 
only  a  dream,  and  that  you  are  awake.  No  consola- 
tory doubt — no  blessed  indecision.  There  is  your 
life — you  must  take  it  up  ;  there  is  your  dream — you 
must  leave  it  behind  you." 

"  No,"  she  said,  instantly  ;  "  I  don't  know  that 
feeling.  Dreams,  whether  waking  or  sleeping  ones, 
continue  part  of  us.  We  can't  undream  them.  We 
are  roused  out  of  them,  but  they  remain." 


A   TETE-A-TETE.  85 

"  Do  they  ?  "  he  said,  doubtfully.  "  Yes,  I  really 
believe  they  do — part  of  our  background.  Say — 
are  not  they  ?  " 

She  nodded  her  head.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  believe 
they  are." 

"  And  perhaps,"  he  added,  "  if  we  tried  very  hard, 
we  could  make  them  realities." 

"  If  we  dream  very  much,  we  sometimes  fulfil  our 
dreams,"  said  she,  smiling  brightly.  "  They  make  us 
do  things;  at  least  day-dreams — castles  in  the  air — 
do.  But  for  them  I  should  never — "  have  been  at 
that  ball,  she  was  going  to  say  ;  but  she  stopped 
herself  just  in  time. 

"  After  all,  a  man  can  make  his  own  life,"  said  he, 
looking  steadily  at  her.  "  His  life  is  in  his  own 
hands  in  great  measure — in  all  essentials — at  least 
till  he  marries." 

"  Ah  !  it  must  be  great  to  be  a  man.  Would  not 
I  fashion  a  noble  life  for  myself  !  " 

"  Would  you  ?  "  cried  he,  catching  her  enthusi- 
asm. "And  so  would  I;  and  so  ivilll.  From  this 
moment  I  have  taken  my  resolution.  I  intend  to 
be  happy." 

"  Well  I  suppose  men  can  even  be  happy  if  they 
please — if  they  set  about  it  the  right  way;  but 


86  MfSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

women  can't  set  about — they  are  at  the  mercy  of 
almost  everything." 

"  But  then  the  happiest  thing  of  all  that  a  man 
has  to  do,  is  to  make  a  woman  happy." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  smiling;  but  her  maidenly  instincts 
forbade  her  pursuing  that  branch  of  the  subject. 

"  When  I  said  a  man  could  make  his  own  life, 
you  said  that  was  great,"  he  continued,  looking 
steadily  at  her,  "  and  you  said  it  with  shining  eyes ; 
but  when  I  spoke  of  being  happy,  disappointment 
came  into  your  face.  Why  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said,  "  of  course  ;  because  it  was 
only  being  happy." 

"  Only  !  But  what  can  you  mean  ?  Is  not  that 
what  we  are  all  trying  for,  a-nd  all  failing  in  ?  more's 
the  pity.  The  great  object  of  our  lives  is  that  we 
shall  be  as  happy  as  we  can  according  to  our  dif- 
ferent tastes  and  wishes." 

"  But  to  be  good  or  great,"  she  cried  ;  "  those 
are  \h.Q  first  objects,  are  they  not?  and  then  happi- 
ness if  we  can." 

"  Well,  of  course,"  he  said,  reflecting,  "  one 
would  not  do  a  wicked  thing  in  order  to  be  happy. 
I  wouldn't  steal  a  purse,  if  I  wanted  money  ever 
so  much,  in  order  to  get  it." 


A   TETE-A-TETE.  87 

« 
"  Oh  !    wouldn't   you  ? "    she    replied,   laughing. 

"  How  good  you  are  !     And  is  that  all  ? " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  all  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  you  got  money  by  stealing  a  purse,  it 
would  not  make  you  happy,  I  fancy,  because  you 
have  been  brought  up  as  a  gentleman." 

"  Well,  no ;  I  suppose  it  wouldn't ;  but  I  don't 
follow  you." 

"  Oh  !"  she  said,  "we  must  be  good  and  feet  nobly 
about  everything  before  we  think  of  being  happy, 
mustn't  we  ?  And  it  sounded  odd  when  you  spoke 
of  making  your  own  life,  and  then  merely  said  you 
would  be  happy.  But,  of  course,  you  didn't  mean 
it,"  she  added,  simply,  "  and  it  was  stupid  of  me  if  I 
looked  disappointed." 

His  countenance  had  become  very  grave. 

"  It  would  be  easy  for  anyone  to  be  good  and  noble 
who — who  lived  with  you,"  he  cried. 

"  Why  ? "  she  asked,  very  innocently. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  impatience,  "  some 
women  are  angels  to  lead  us  right,  while  others  are 
"  Then  he  stopped  with  a  sound  that  resem- 
bled a  groan  more  than  anything  else. 

"  We  all  have  our  angels,"  she  answered,  smiling. 

What  more  might  have  been  said  I  don't  know  ; 


88  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

but  as  Miranda  uttered  the  word  "  angels,"  the  clock 
on  the  mantel-piece  struck,  and  then  struck  five 
times  more — six  in  all — and  she  gave  a  great  start. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  must  go  home." 

"  Will  you  disappear  as  you  did  when  we  parted 
last,"  he  said.  "  Will  you  not  let  me  see  you  home  ? 
Is  your  carriage  there  ?  Was  it  to  be  really  like 
Cinderella  that  you  disappeared  in  that  cruel  way ; 
and  you  did  not  even  leave  me  the  slipper." 

"  You  forget  that  I  had  boots  on,"  she  answered, 
laughing  joyously. 

"  Boots  !  oh  yes,  boots  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  and  isn't  it 
always  so  ?  Isn't  it  just  the  difference  between  boots 
or  slippers  that  makes  or  mars  a  man's  life  ? " 

It  was  now  her  turn  to  be  surprised  at  his  sayings. 

"  But  how  ?' '  she  asked. 

"  Why  thus.  I  will  take  an  example  :  I  could 
not  find  you  because  you  did  not  leave  me  a  slipper  ; 
you  did  not  leave  me  a  slipper  because,  by  mere 
chance,  you  wore  boots  ;  and  by  these  chances  and 
trifles  lives  are  lost." 

He  spoke  seriously  ;  but  she  only  laughed. 

"  And  so,"  she  said,  "  everything  is  a  mere  chance, 
and  yet  you  speak  of  making  your  own  life  ! " 

"  True,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  how  can  I  help  it  ? 


A   TETE-A-TETE.  89 

If  the  chances  are  all  straight  against  him,  what  is 
a  man  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  in  chances,"  she  cried,  brightly. 
"When  you  spoke  of  boots  or  slippers  making  or 
marring  a  life,  I  thought  it  was  because  boots  meant 
work,  and  slippers  sloth." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  cried,  eagerly  ;  "  you  have  given 
me  the  key-note.  There  is  hope  in  that.  Yes  ;  I  will 
work.  I  will  use  every  means  to  bring  about  my  end." 

"  But  you  must  wear  thicker  boots  than  those, " 
she  cried,  glancing  archly  at  his  feet,  "  if  the  work 
is  at  all  difficult." 

"  I  will  wear  seven-leagued  boots  if  necessary." 

"  Ah  !  there  it  is  ;  you  can't  do  your  work  your- 
self, and  you  give  in  at  once,  and  call  upon  the 
giants  to  help  you."'  And  she  shook  her  head  at 
him  in  the  prettiest  way  possible. 

The  man  of  the  world  had  never  felt  as  he  did 
now.  I  suppose  his  heart  was  in  the  right  place 
after  all,  for  it  answered  at  once  with  delight  to  na- 
ture and  goodness.  He  boldly  recognized  to  him- 
self that  he  was  in  love.  And  when  Miranda  stood 
there,  smiling  and  shaking  her  head  at  him,  he  said 
over  and  over  again,  in  his  own  mind,  "  You  shall  be 
my  wife." 


90  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Suddenly  she  held  out  her  hand  with  a  sweet, 
sorrowful  face. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said  ;  "  I  must  go." 

And  she  was  gone,  ere  his  fingers  had  done  more 
than  touch  hers,  disappearing  through  a  door  into 
an  inner  room,  not  by  the  one  that  opened  on  to 
the  public  stair,  and  by  which  he  had  entered. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE     FIRST    FLOOR. 

MIRANDA  almost  ran  home.  Her  heart 
reproached  her  for  having  idled  away  too 
much  time,  and  staying  too  long  from  Sophy. 

"  Conversation  is  such  a  delicious  thing,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  that  while  one  is  conversing  time 
flies,  and  one  forgets  that  it  is  not  going  at  its  usual 
jog-trot  pace." 

But  I  do  not  think  there  was  any  jog-trot  in 
Miranda's  life.  There  never  is  in  youth,  though 
youth  is  not  always  aware  of  its  own  privileges,  and 
sometimes  imagines  that  its  lovely  monotony  is  jog- 
trot. 

She  was  in  such  haste  to  return,  and  entered  her 
home  so  quickly,  that  in  the  passage  she  almost  ran 
into  the  arms  of  a  man  with  a  big,  bushy  black 
beard,  who  was  about  to  leave  it  with  equal  rapidity. 

"  Hullo ! "  cried  he  ;  "I  beg  pardon.     Oh,  is  it 


92  M/SS  HITCHCOCK'S  U'EDDIXG  DRESS. 

you  ?     You  are  the  young  lady  in  the  back  parlor, 
ain't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  almost  breathless  reply. 

"  Then  you  are  the  very  person  I  want  to  see/' 

She  looked  at  him,  and  colored  brightly  ;  while 
her  heart  beat  fast. 

"  Are  you  the  first  floor  ?  "  she  said,  timidly  ;  for 
in  truth  she  felt  extremely  frightened.  She  be- 
lieved he  had  recognized  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  and  I  am  the  first  floor  only 
because  you  are  the  back  parlor.  I  saw  you  be- 
fore." 

"  Oh  ! "  she  cried,  "  I  could  not  help  it ;  let  me 
pass,  please." 

And  she  tried  to  pass  him.  But  his  rather  stout, 
thick-set  figure  filled  up  the  breadth  of  the  passage 
too  completely  to  leave  room  on  either  side  of  him 
even  for  slight  Miranda  to  slip  by. 

"  I  saw  you  in  church  last  Sunday  fortnight,  and 
I  followed  you,  and  you  came  in  here,  and  so  I  took 
lodgings  here." 

Then  Miranda  recovered  her  self-possession  in  a 
moment,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  him  in  innocent 
reproof. 

"  You  were  extremely  foolish  then,"  she  said,  her 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  93 

young  voice  bright  and  clear  as  a  bell  ;  "  and  you 
have  no  right  to  tell  me  so  or  to  speak  to  me  at  all. 
Please  let  me  pass." 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  he  cried.  "  I  am  an  artist.  I 
am  painting  a  picture.  I  wanted  a  face — a  par- 
ticular sort  of  face.  I  had  been  looking  for  it  for 
weeks,  and  at  last  I  found  it  in  church.  It's  you." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  ! "  cried  she  ;  "  is  that  all ! 
I  really  thought  you  meant  a  compliment,  and  that 
would  have  been  so  impertinent,  you  know." 

"  It's  not  an  impertinent  compliment,"  he  an- 
swered, "  only  an  artistic  one.  I'm  thinking  of  my 
work,  not  of  you." 

She  laughed.  "  Oh  yes,"  she  said  ;  "  I  don't  mind 
that  at  all." 

"  And  will  you  sit  to  me  ?" 

"  I  can't  really.  I've  not  time  ;  and  I  don't  know 
you.  I  could  not  sit  to  you." 

"  Oh  !  if  that's  all.  If  it's  the  want  of  an  intro- 
duction, I'll  soon  set  that  right.  Mrs.  Green  !  Mrs. 
Green  !" 

And  he  ran  to  the  top  of  the  back  stairs  and  shout- 
ed down  them.  The  worthy  landlady  appeared  at 
the  top  of  them  before  Miranda,  in  her  surprise, 
had  thought  of  going  away. 


94  M/SS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Mrs.  Green,  will  you  introduce  me  to  this  young 
lady  ?  " 

"  Well  really,  Mr.  Gaunt,  I  don't  know.  Why 
should  I  ? "  said  she,  panting.  "  Dear  heart,  sir  !  I 
thought  you'd  see'd  another  ghost  ! " 

"  I'm  painting  a  picture,  Mrs.  Green,  that  will 
make  me  immortal.  I'm  stopped  for  want  of  a  face, 
and  there  it  is.  Won't  you  be  a  good  woman,  and 
introduce  me  to  it,  and  come  with  it  into  my  room 
while  I  just  make  a  little,  little  sketch  of  it  ?'' 

"  A  picture,  sir  ?  Well,  Miss  Miranda  would 
make  a  pretty  picture,  to  be  sure.  I  can't  see  why 
she  shouldn't.  Miss  Miranda,  my  dear,  this  gent  is 
the  first  floor,  and  I'd  the  best  of  references  with  him, 
as  I  always  do.  Mr.  Gaunt,  Miss  Miranda  Maxwell." 

And  the  worthy  woman  made  signals  of  introduc- 
tion far  more  rational  than  those  used  in  society. 

"  Well,  I  am  blessed  !  "  said  the  artist ;  "  Miranda 
too!  Who  would  —  who  could  have  thought  it? 
Then  I  must  be  a  witch !  Why,  it's  as  Miranda  I 
want  to  take  you.  Isn't  such  a  coincidence  as  that 
enough  to  strike  a  man  all  of  a  heap  ?  Darwin's 
development  is  nothing  to  it — nothing  at  all." 

"  Miranda  ?  "  cried  she,  blushing  and  smiling  ; 
"  oh  no,  I'm  not  half  pretty  enough  for  Miranda." 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  95 

"  I'll  be  hanged, "  was  the  reply,  "  if  you're  not 
pretty  enough  for  anything.  Beg  pardon  ;  I  didn't 
mean  it.  I'm  respectful ;  I'm  per-fect-ly  respectful ; 
only  somehow  the  words  came  of  themselves — they 
did  indeed.  But  I'm  per-fect-ly  respectful — didn't 
mean  it — only,  you  see,  I'm  trembling  with  im- 
patience to  begin.  Good  gracious  !  it  is  such  a 
chance  ;  it  mightn't  occur  in  a  man's  lifetime  again 
— it  mightn't  indeed." 

"But  my  sister  is  ill,  and  I  must  go  to  her 
directly." 

"  Bless  your  heart,  Miss  Miranda,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Green,  "  she's  fast  asleep  ;  it's  all  she  can  do,  poor 
soul,  except  eat,  and  she  does  both  wonderful.  I 
gave  her  a  cup  of  the  best  beef  tea,  that  I'd  made 
myself,  and  she  just  swollered  it,  she  did;  and  then 
off  she  was  asleep  again  ;  and  it's  all  she  wants  my 
dear — sleep  and  slops — slops  and  sleep  ;  she's  tired 
out,  and  she's  coming  to  on  sleep  and  slops  as  a 
rational  crittur  should." 

So  Miranda,  to  her  own  surprise,  accompanied  the 
first  floor  (being  in  her  turn  accompanied  by  their 
landlady)  into  his  room,  and  scarcely  half-an-hour 
after  she  had  parted  from  Lady  Gregory's  nephew, 
at  Madame  La  Gai's,  found  herself  sitting  for  her 


96  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

portrait  to  the  man  to  whom  she  had  before  this 
appeared  as  a  ghost. 

It  was  only  a  little  sketch  he  wanted  to  take,  which 
he  could  then  introduce  into  his  picture  ;  and  if  he 
nursed  in  secret  any  bolder  design  of  making  her  sit 
to  him  by-and-by,  in  his  studio,  he  did  not  at  this 
time  give  a  hint  of  it  to  any  one,  appearing  per- 
fectly content  with  the  concession  she  had  already 
made. 

Mrs.  Green  knitted  away  at  the  stocking  she 
always  had  on  hand,  and  made  an  admirable  chap- 
erone. 

Miranda  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  be  silent.  She 
was  always  amused,  and  she  had  friendly  feelings 
for  everyone  who  had  not  given  her  unmistakable 
cause  for  the  reverse. 

"  How  pleasant  it  must  be  to  paint ! "  said  she, 
brightly. 

"  It's  pleasanter  than  pleasant,"  was  the  cheery 
reply. 

"  Now  I  should  like  to  earn  my  living  that  sort  of 
way,"  continued  she  ;  "  then  work  must  be  a  delight. 
Fancy  the  work  one  has  to  do  being  nice  in  itself ! 
You  must  look  forward  to  your  morning's  work  when 
you  go  to  bed  at  night." 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  97 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  replied  he.  "  Why  not  ?  Is 
that  anything  wonderful  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so  ! "  said  she.  "  We  only  feel  at 
night,  '  Oh  !  that  day's  work  is  over ; '  and  we  don't 
think  about  the  beginning  again  next  day  at  all,  or 
we  could  hardly  enjoy  the  leaving  off  at  night." 

"  Why  what  is  your  work  ? "  said  he,  looking  at 
her  with  some  interest. 

"  Sewing,"  replied  Miranda,  laconically.  She 
thought  the  one  word  expressed  the  life  without 
any  amplification. 

"  Sewing  !  "  echoed  he,  without  an  atom  of  pity  in 
his  voice  ;  "why,  that's  woman's  painting." 

"  No  indeed,"  said  she,  scornfully  ;  "  why  woman's 
painting,  if  tailoring  is  not  man's  ? " 

"  Hullo!  what's  that  ?  "  cried  the  artist. 

"  Why,  women  can  paint,  can't  they  ?  and  men 
can  sew,  or  what  would  they  do  for  coats  ?  Women's 
painting  !  Think  of  Rosa  Bonheur  !  It's  that  sort 
of  talking  that  drives  women  into  standing  up  for 
their  rights;  and  so  becoming  even  more  silly  than 
the  men  who  make  them  do  it ! '' 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  humbly,"  said  he  ;  I  didn't 
mean  any  harm.  I  didn't  want  to  rile  you.  Turn 

your  chin  up  a  little.     Don't  look  angry  please  ;  and 

7    • 


98  MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

keep  your  eyelids  steady  half  way  down.  There, 
that'll  do.  Now  talk  as  much  as  you  like.  What's 
it  all  about?  Oh  !  you  paint,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  paint/'  said  she  smiling ;  "and  I  don't 
know  why  I  talked  so.  But  I  was  thinking — couldn't 
one  earn  money  by  music  as  well  as  painting  ? " 

"  I  should  think  so,  rather,  that  one  could — jollily. 
Look  at  Sims  Reeves  and  old  Mario." 

"  But  I'm  speaking 'about  women." 

"  Very  well  speak  of  women — bless  'em." 

"  I  have  sung  all  my  life,  and  to-day  I've  learned 
I  sing  well,  and  I  hadn't  a  notion  of  it  before. 
Now  do  you  think  I  could  earn  my  livelihood  by 
singing  ? " 

"  Sing  !  "  cried  he,  suddenly  interested.  "  Oh  ! 
you  sing,  do  you  ?  Of  course  you  do  ;  what  an  ass 
I  was  not  to  think  of  it.  It's  just  the  thing — of 
course  it  is.  Now  you  see  your  face  is  changing 
every  minute,  and  so  I  can't  catch  the  expression  I 
want ;  but  singing  will  do  it — that'll  keep  it  steady. 
I  know  just  how  you  must  look  when  you're  sing- 
ing ;  and  it's  just  your  singing  look  that  I  want. 
Please,  sing  a  song  directly." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can,"  said  Miranda,  suddenly 
turning  shy. 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  99 

"  Oh,  please,  do.  Don't  think  about  it ;  begin  all 
of  a  heap.  Why  not  ?  Mrs.  Green,  won't  you  make 
the  young  lady  sing  ?  She  must,  really.  I  can't 
get  on  at  all  without  it.  I  can't  indeed." 

"  Do  sing  one  of  them  pretty  things,  Miss  Mi- 
randa, my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Green.  "  Many  a  time 
I've  stood  on  the  stairs  to  hear  you  sing  about  the 
green  in  the  sky.  Do,  my  dear." 

"  The  green  in  my  eye  !  "  said  the  artist,  -rrever- 
ently,  but  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"  Sing  about  the  green  in  the  sky.  Do  now,  Miss 
Miranda,"  urged  the  landlady. 

"  You'll  find  it  much  easier  to  sit  singing,"  said 
the  artist,  very  much  as  if  he  was  coaxing  a  hen. 

"  Oh,  well ;  it's  not  worth  refusing,"  said  Miranda ; 
and  so  she  sang — 

"  IT    IS    ONLY. 

"  There  are  lakes  in  the  sky 

Of  a  delicate  green ; 
Had  I  wings,  I  would  fly    . 

Where  no  mortal  hath  been. 
It  is  only  at  sunset 

Those  lakes  can  be  seen. 

"  There  are  forms  in  the  fire, 

There  is  many  a  face  ; 
In  my  heart  I  aspire 


ioo         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

To  their  tremulous  grace. 
It  is  only  by  twilight 
Their  wonders  I  trace. 


"  There  are  lights  through  the  trees 

o  o 

On  the  glittering  ground  ; 
And  they  sway  with  the  breeze, 

Keeping  time  to  its  sound. 
It  is  only  'mid  shadows 

Such  lights  can  be  found. 

"There  are  joys,  deep  and  true, 
Time  can  bring  us  alone ; 

When  the  morning  is  new 
They  are  far  and  unknown. 

It  is  only  through  sorrow 
Such  joys  are  our  own." 


She  stopped  there,  and  Mr.  Gaunt,  who  had  been 
sketching  vigorously  all  the  time,  with  his  eyes  now 
fixed  on  her,  now  turned  to  his  paper — gave  a  deep 
sigh  as  she  did  so.  He  bent  over  his  work  without 
a  glance  or  a  thought  for  the  original.  His  soul 
seemed  in  his  face,  looking  with  desperate  eagerness 
for  the  soul  in  the  face  before  him. 

"I've  done  it!"  he  cried;  "it's  perfect!  Music 
for  ever  !  Oh !  that  blessed  song !  I  knew  it 
would." 

Then  he  bejran  to  remember  the  living  Miranda. 


THE  FIRS T  FLOOR.  i o I 

He  gave  her  an  odd  look  and  smile,  and  beckoned 
to  her  to  approach  him. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  and  see  yourself — it's  only  fair 
that  you  should  see  yourself." 

"  I  shan't  like  it,  I  know,"  said  she  ;  and  she  went 
across  the  room  and  peeped  over  his  shoulder.  He 
was  writing  on  the  paper  beneath  the  drawing. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  am  not  pretty  like  that.  I 
wish  I  was.  How  could  you  make  such  a  sweet 
thing  out  of  me,  I  wonder  ?" 

"  Djd  you  ever  see  yourself  sing  ? "  asked  he,  with 
a  droll,  quaint  look. 

"  Well,  no,  of  course,  I  never  did.     How  could  I  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  but  that's  just  it — that's  how  you  look 
while  you're  singing — it  is  indeed." 

"  In  that  case,"  cried  she,  laughing  and  blushing, 
"  I  had  better  always  sing." 

"  Upon  my  life,"  answered  he,  "  I  quite  agree 
with  you." 

"  I  shall  read  the  '  Tempest '  over  again  directly," 
said  Miranda. 

"  Have  you  got  it  ?  "  asked  he,  surprised. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  replied  ;  "  we  kept  a  few  books. 
We  could  not  part  with  Shakespeare,  you  know." 

"  Oh  !  "  he  said,  glancing  rather  inquiringly  from 


I02         MSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

her  to  Mrs.  Green  and  back  again  ;  "  I  think  I  see." 
Then  he  added  briskly,  "  If  you  want  to  earn  your 
livelihood  by  singing,  I  believe  you  could  do  it." 

"  Could  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  think  so  ;  but  I'm  not  sure.  I'd  like  a 
better  judge  than  I  am  to  hear  you.  I  think  you 
might  teach,  and  I  think  you  might  produce  a  great 
effect  at  London  parties.  I  shouldn't  like  you  to 
sing  at  concerts.  But  those  two  are  safe  branches, 
and  I  think  you  could  do  pretty  well  in  both." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  teach,"  said  she  ;  "  I  don't 
sing  scientifically  enough.  But  I  might  teach  play- 
ing  perhaps." 

She  expressed  no  surprise — because  she  felt 
none — at  the  interest  in  her  he  evinced,  by  say- 
ing he  should  not  like  her  to  sing  at  concerts. 
It  seemed  quite  natural  to  her  that  everybody 
should  feel  a  kindly  interest  in  everybody  else. 
She  cared  for  all  her  fellow-creatures,  and  the 
feelings  her  fresh  beauty  and  charming  ways  ex- 
cited in  those  she  came  in  contact  with  she  set 
down  unhesitatingly  to  a  necessary  and  universal 
philanthropy. 

Mrs.  Green  regarded  the  drawing  very  approving- 
ly. She  screwed  up  her  eyes  to  see  it  from  a  little 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  !  03 

distance,  and  put  on  her  spectacles  to  do  full  honor 
to  a  nearer  view.     What  she  beheld  was  this  : — 

A  slight  pencil  sketch  of  a  young  girl,  standing 
on  the  sea-shore,  with  innocent,  wide-opened  eyes 
looking  forward,  and  a  face  all  alight  with  a  sort  of 
joyful  surprise.  Under  it  was  written  the  words — 

"  My  prime  request 

Which  I  do  last  pronounce  is — Oh  !  you  wonder 
If  you  be  made  or  no  ?  " 

"  Dear  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Green,  "  it's  a  nice  scrawl, 
but  it's  only  a  scrawl;  and,  Lor'  !  what  nonsense  the 
words  are.  Prime  !  well,  to  be  sure,  it  makes  one 
think  of  mutton.  Won't  you  do  her  in  paint,  sir  ? " 
she  added,  anxiously. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  I  shall  certainly  do 
her  in  paint.  This  is  only  just  the  sketch  of  the 
figure  to  be  introduced  into  my  picture — my  great 
picture,  Mrs.  Green,  which  is  to  make  me  immortal. 
Some  day  soon  I  shall  ask  you  to  bring  the  young 
lady  to  my  studio,  as  I  shall  want  one,  or  perhaps 
two,  sittings  from  her  just  for  finishing  all  up  ;  and 
then  Til  show  it  to  you,  and  all  my  other  great 
pictures  too." 

"  That  will  be  delightful,"  cried  Miranda,  with  the 


I04         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

glee  of  a  child  who  finds  herself  being  promised  an 
unexpected  treat. 

"  Did  you  really  come  off  a  desert  island,  I 
wonder  ?  "  said  he,  looking  at  her  with  his  droll,  but 
kindly  smile. 

"  My  back  room  is  a  desert  island,"  she  answered, 
laughing,  "  and  everything  beyond  it  seems  new  and 
charming.'' 

"  And  now,  miss,"  said  her  chaperone,  "  I  must  go 
back  to  my  kitchen.  Nancy  is  that  stupid  she  never 
can  dish  up  properly  without  me,  and  the  front  parlor 
is  awful  particklar  about  their  dinners.  I'd  rather 
send  you  or  the  first  floor  (with  a  little  sign  at  Mr. 
Gaunt)  up  fifty  dinners  than  them  Jones's  one." 

"  And  I  thought  to  go  to  poor  Sophy,"  said 
Miranda  ;  "  if  she's  awake,  she'll  want  me  ;  and," 
sighing,  "  I've  got  a  mantle  to  trim."  Then  she 
turned  to  Mr.  Gaunt,  and  said  warmly  and  earnestly, 
"  Good-bye  ;  thank  you  so  very  much." 

"  But  what  for  ? "  he  cried  briskly,  and  with 
amusement ;  "  it's  you  have  been  doing  me  the 
favor,  isn't  it  ?  not  I  you." 

"  Why,  so  it  is,"  cried  she,  laughing  ;  "  but  I  had 
quite  forgotten  that,  because  it  has  been  so  very 
delightful." 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  IC>5 

And  so  saying,  she  tripped  lightly  out  of  the 
room,  followed  by  Mrs.  Green,  who,  however,  first 
performed  a  voluminous  curtsey,  and  took  a  respect- 
ful leave  of  her  first  floor. 

"  That's  a  very  nice  party,  Miss  Miranda,"  she 
remarked  as  they  went  down  stairs  together,  "  and 
a  thorough  gent ;  and  if  he  do  choose  to  see  a  ghost 
now  and  then,  in  a  small  way,  I  almost  think  I'll 
make  no  objections." 

"  That  will  be  very  wise  of  you,  I'm  sure,  Mrs. 
Green." 

"  You  see,  miss,  it  wasn't  a  noisy  ghost,  and  it 
wasn't  a  nasty  ghost.  I  can't  abide  'em  when 
they're  noisy  or  nasty ;  and  there's  no  call  why  I 
should.  But  it  had  no  blood  about  it — leastways 
he  did  not  say  so — and  it  didn't  rattle  chains  ;  it 
seemed  a  quiet,  innocent  sort,  and  maybe  it's  best 
not  to  be  over  particklar,  Miss  Miranda." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you ;  I  think  it  was  one  of 
the  most  harmless  ghosts  I  ever  heard  of  in  my 
life." 

"  No,  really  ;  was  it  now,  miss  ?  Well,  I'm  glad 
you  think  so  too.  And  I  like  that  first  floor  uncom- 
mon— I  do  indeed — a  gent  like  that  is  so  little 
trouble.  I'd  rather  let  my  house  to  'em  all  through 


I06         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

than  to  them  Jones's.  And  he's  paid  me  his  week 
reg'lar  as  clock-work,  and  given  me  a  pound  to  keep 
in  hand  for  things  wanted.  I  like  that  first  floor 
uncommon,  Miss  Miranda ;  I  do  indeed." 

Then  Miranda  took  her  work,  and  stitched  busily 
late  into  the  night  by  the  bedside  of  her  sleeping 
sister.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  been  wasting  her 
time  dreadfully  ;  the  whole  afternoon  had  been 
spent  in  amusement.  To  be  sure,  Madame  La  Gai 
always  gave  something  for  the  hours  employed  at 
her  house,  and  if  few  customers  had  come  in,  it  was 
not  Miranda's  fault ;  still  she  felt  like  a  truant  from 
school,  and  that  it  was  her  duty  now  to  make  up  as 
well  as  she  could  for  lost  time.  Sophy  slept  heavily, 
and  Miranda  worked  on  till  one  o'clock  struck,  and 
she  found  her  thoughts  getting  confused,  and  her 
little  head  nodding  wearily  down  on  to  her  hands. 

The  next  morning  she  awoke  quite  refreshed. 
She  was  so  young  and  strong,  and  had  such  a  young, 
strong  spirit  within  her,  that  after  a  few  hours'-  sleep, 
she  always  rose  as  gay  as  a  lark.  Her  first  waking 
thought  was,  to  her,  a  very  unusual  one — Will  any- 
thing pleasant  happen  to-day  ?  "  But  if  it  doesn't," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  I  should  be  most  ungrateful  to 
mind  ;  I  must  not  let  pleasure  spoil  me  ;  I  must 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  107 

remember  all  poor  papa  said  when  I  was  such  a 
silly  that  I  cried  because  it  rained  and  I  couldn't  go 
to  the  pic-nic.  If  we  regret  pleasures,  and  want 
them  when  they  don't  come,  we  turn  them  into  pains 
and  that  is  very  foolish,  as  well  as  very  ungrateful. 
I  remember  when  Sophy  was  so  vexed  because  it 
was  a  bad  year  for  roses,  and  she  kept  mourning 
over  it,  and  going  on  about  how  splendid  they  had 
been  the  summer  before,  till  papa  said  she  was  mak- 
ing a  past  joy  into  a  present  grief,  and  that  it  would 
have  been  better — to  hear  her  talk — if  the  roses 
had  not  given  us  such  a  splendid  harvest  last  June. 
The  beautiful  roses  ;  I  ran  out  into  the  garden  and 
kissed  them,  and  begged  their  pardon  for  all  Sophy 
had  said,  the  dears!  Oh!  I  do  think  a  bunch  of 
roses  would  cure  Sophy  now — poor,  poor  Sophy  ! 
I  know  what  I'll  do,"  cried  she  aloud,  with  a  sudden 
blush  of  vivid  delight  ;  "  I'll  go  without  my  dinner  ; 
I'll  just  eat  a  nice  large  hunch  of  dry  bread  when  I 
get  too  hungry,  and  then,  with  the  money  I've  not 
spent,  I'll  slip  out  of  the  house,  and  I'll  run  away 
off  to  some  flower-place,  and  I'll  buy  a  beautiful  big 
bunch  of  roses — a  great  cluster  of  roses — all  sweet 
and  fresh  and  lovely — and  bring  them  in  to  Sophy. 
Oh !  how  delicious !  who  was  afraid  that  there 


I08         AfISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

would  be  no  new  pleasure  to-day  ? "  She  laughed 
a  little  at  that ;  and  then  she  knelt  down,  and  said 
her  prayers  very  reverently,  but  with  a  smile  on 
her  face  all  the  time. 

Sophy  opened  her  eyes,  and  spoke  low  and  in  a 
confused  way.  At  last  Miranda  made  out  that  she 
was  telling  her  she  was  better.  "  Only,"  she  said, 
"I  have  an  odd  heaviness  in  my  limbs,  I  can't  move 
them,  and  my  thoughts  seem  to  come  slower  than 
ever,  and  papa  used  to  call  me  his  dear  old  slow 
coach  even  then."  Here  she  gave  a  faint,  sickly 
smile,  more  unlike  than  a  frown  would  have  been, 
to  the  smile  that  lighted  up  Miranda's  fair  face  and 
danced  in  her  innocent  eyes. 

She  ran  up  to  her  and  kissed  her  several  times  ; 
thinking  of  the  rose-cure  all  the  while,  and  so  de- 
lighted about  it  she  hardly  knew  what  to  do. 

"  Never  mind,  Sissy,"  she  cried,  "  it's  only  that 
you're  tired.  Mrs.  Green  said  so.  You're  just  to 
go  on  eating  and  sleeping  till  you're  quite  well.  And 
you  arc  better,  for  you've  not  said  so  many  words  to 
me  before  for  these  two  days,  you  dear  old  thing." 
Here  she  kissed  her  again,  and  Sophy  stared  at  her, 
and  shut  her  eyes,  and  fell  once  more  into  a  heavy 
sleep. 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  xog 

Miranda  spent  all  that  morning  working  hard. 
About  three  o'clock  she  got  "  too  hungry,"  and  ate 
her  "  nice  large  hunch  of  dry  bread,"  which,  with 
the  prospect  of  the  cluster  of  roses  before  her, 
seemed  to  her  perfectly  delicious. 

"  Hunger  is  the  best  sauce,"  said  she  ;  "  I  had  no 
idea  how  nice  dry  bread  was  before." 

Ah  !  Miranda,  your  kind,  tender  thoughts  were  a 
sweeter  sauce  than  hunger.  How  pretty  and  how 
good  you  looked  in  that  dingy  little  room,  eating 
your  bit  of  dry  bread,  and  thinking  of  Sophy  and 
her  roses  !  The  poor  sick  woman  had  taken  some 
tea  and  a  morsel  of  toast  for  her  dinner,  and  was 
once  more  asleep.  Mrs.  Green  was  beginning  to  feel 
uneasy  about  her,  and  to  fear  there  must  be  some- 
thing more  than  merely  being  "  tired  out  "  in  a  state 
like  hers,  continuing  so  long  ;  but  Miranda  was  too 
inexperienced  to  feel  the  least  anxiety  ;  besides, 
were  there  not  the  roses  ?  the  rose-cure  had  not 
been  tried  yet ;  who  could  resist  that  ?  certainly  not 
her  Sophy. 

And  so  with  half-a-crown  in  her  hand,  she  went 
out  to  hunt  for  roses  as  happy  as  a  queen — alas  ! 
happier  than  our  good  Queen  can  ever  be  again. 
Let  us  hope  that  fortune  may  deal  more  kindly  with 


IIO         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

my  Miranda,  and  that  in  the  far-off  time  she  may  not 
look  back  to  these  days  of  poverty  and  privation  as 
among  the  happiest  in  her  life. 

She  found  her  roses,  and  triumphantly  made  her 
purchase — red,  pink,  white,  almost  lilac,  buff,  yel- 
low, every  shade  but  blue.  Have  we  not,  all  of  us, 
at  some  time  or  other,  wished  for  blue  roses  ?  Not 
so  Miranda.  'She  caressed  the  beautiful  creatures 
with  tender,  timid  touch,  as  she  took  them  from  the 
hands  of  the  befrizzled  and  bechignoned  and  be- 
everything-that-is-ugly-and-ungraceful  young  lady 
who  stood  behind  the  counter. 

"  How  glad  I  am  there  are  no  blue  roses, "  said 
she,  softly  ;  "  they  would  be  so  unnatural." 

"Blue  roses  ! "  cried  the  girl,  astonished.  "  Lawk- 
a-mercy  !  I  wish  there  were  ;  wouldn't  they  sell  ? 
rather." 

Miranda  shrank  back  as  if  she  had  been  hurt. 
Then  she  looked  at  the  young  lady  with  pitying 
eyes. 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  said  she  to  herself.  "  I  wouldn't 
like  to  sell  flowers  ;  I  think  it  must  harden  the 
heart." 

When  she  had  nearly  reached  home,  Mr.  Gaunt 
crossed  the  street  and  joined  her. 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  j  1 1 

"  Miranda,  with  her  hands  full  of  roses  !  "  cried  he. 
"  Beg  pardon,  I'm  not  calling  you  by  your  Christian 
name,  you  know,  only  by  hers  ;  I'm  perfectly  re- 
spectful." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  smiling  ;  "  I  know.  But  are  they 
not  beautiful  ?  They  are  for  poor  Sophy — she  is  so 
ill.  Do  you  think  they  will  do  her  good  ?  They 
must,  mustnt  they  ?  " 

She  spoke  so  earnestly  that  I  am  obliged  to  have 
the  words  put  in  italics. 

"  Flowers  are  very  pleasant  when  you're  ill,"  said 
he  ;  and  that  dreamy  look  came  into  his  eyes,  with 
which  one  recalls  some  almost  forgotten  time, 
scattered  moments  of  which  float  pleasantly  back 
into  the  taxed  memory.  "  Is  Sophy  very  ill  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Green  thinks  she's  just  tired  out.  She  is 
always  asleep,  except  when  she  is  taking  a  little 
broth  or  tea,  and  she  can't  move,  and  says  her 
thoughts  are  so  slow  ;  but  for  two  days  I  don't  think 
she  had  any  thoughts,  so  she  is  better." 

"  I  say,"  said  he,  "  this  won't  do  at  all.  Look  here. 
I  was  bred  a  doctor — apprenticed  and  taught,  and 
walked  the  hospitals  and  everything — but  I  liked 
painting  bones  better  than  setting  them  ;  though,  in 
my  opinion,  every  artist  should  be  bred  a  doctor — it 


II2          MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

teaches  you  no  end  of  things,  you  see,  that  you  find 
of  use  when  you  get  your  brush  on  canvas.  Now 
Mrs.  Green — worthy  old  soul  she  is,  by-the-bye,  but 
why  so  fat?  Why  do  worthy  old  souls,  as  a  general 
rule,  get  so  very  fat  ?  However,  fat  or  thin — and  it's 
not  of  the  least  consequence  which — she  has  told  me 
all  about  you  ;  and  I  don't  wish  Miss  Sophy  to  be 
ill ;  and  I'm  afraid  she  will  be  very  ill,  if  you  don't 
take  care.  Will  you  let  me  see  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly  ;  I  suppose  so,"  said  Miranda 
surprised,  and  beginning  to  take  alarm,  oh  happy, 
unanxious  youth  ;  "  it  is  very  kind  of  you,  I  am 
sure." 

"  You  look  so  uncommonly  kind  yourself,"  said 
Mr.  Gaunt,  "  that  you  make  other  people  the  same  ; 
not  that  it's  much  out  of  the  way  to  try  to  set  a 
sick  woman  on  her  legs  again." 

"  She  is  so  fond  of  roses,"  said  Miranda,  confi- 
dentially, "  that  I  think  they  must  do  her  good." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house,  and 
Miranda  called  Mrs.  Green  up  from  the  kitchen. 
Some  instinct  made  her  feel,  without  an  instant's 
reflection,  that  this  was  a  more  comfortable  proceed- 
ing than  taking  the  artist-doctor  to  Sophy  herself, 
and  alone. 


THE  FIRST  FLOOR.  H3 

"He  has  walked  the  hospitals  and  done  every< 
thing  all  right — everything  that  makes  a  man 
medical,  you  know,"  she  explained  ;  "  and  he  thinks 
if  we  don't  take  care,  Sophy  will  be  really  very  ill ; 
and  he  wants  to  see  her.  He  may,  mayn't  he,  Mrs. 
Green  ?  It  is  very  kind  of  him,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  I  am  glad,"  said  the  fat  and 
worthy  one  ;  "  I  was  just  wishing  for  a  doctor  for 
her.  Not  that  there's  anything  much  astray " — 
here  she  winked  volumes,  in  the  largest  and  clear- 
est possible  type,  at  Mr.  Gaunt — "  but  when  people 
is  ill,  it's  always  satisfactory  like  to  have  a  man  in 
to  look  at  them.  I  always  did  say  so,  Miss  Miranda, 
and  I'm  not  agoing  to  go  from  it  now  ;  no,  miss,  I'm 
not." 

With  which  apology  for  taking  a  doctor  to  Miss 
Sophy,  when  it  was  not  to  be  allowed  that  she  was 
really  ill,  Mrs.  Green  ascended  the  stairs  as  fast  as 
her  breath  would  allow  her,  followed  by  Mr.  Gaunt 
and  Miranda. 

8 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SUNDAY. 

A  DARKENED  room,  and  a  poor,  weary,  old- 
ish-looking woman,  lying  breathing  heavily 
in  a  very  shabby  bed.  That  was  all  Mr.  Gaunt 
expected  to  find,  but  not  all  he  found ;  for  his 
expectations,  unlike  expectations  in  general,  proved 
less  than  the  reality,  and  he  did  not  feel  at  all  sure 
that  there  was  not  another  presence  near,  waiting 
(as  that  presence  perhaps  always  is)  to  rush  in  and 
seize  its  prey  the  first  possible  moment — always 
waiting,  but  always  kept  at  bay  by  youth  and 
health.  Alas  !  there  was  neither  health  nor  youth 
here,  so  he  felt  that  the  presence  might  be  drawing 
very  near  indeed — that  presence  which  would  bring 
brightness  and  joy  to  the  poor  weary  one,  and 
plunge  the  other  girl,  in  all  her  brilliancy,  into 
sorrow  and  despair. 

He  felt  his  patient's  pulse  and  her  forehead,  ex- 


SUNDA  Y.  j  r  - 

0 


amined  her  eyes,  asked  her  a  few  questions,  and 
then  gave  an  expressive  look  at  Mrs.  Green,  who 
winked  folio  volumes  in  large  type  in  reply.  He 
said  very  little,  and  the  two  women  said  nothing, 
but  stood  quietly  by,  Mrs.  Green  beginning  to  feel 
a  good  deal  frightened,  and  Miranda  rejoicing  in 
her  serene  heart  that  poor  Sophy  would  now  be 
made  well  again.  After  some  time  they  all  went 
out  on  to  the  stairs,  and  then  the  doctor  spoke. 

"It  is  just  this,  you  see,"  he  said  ;  "her  nerves 
are  clean  gone,  and  so  she's  nothing  but  nerves." 
"  Oh  dear !  "  cried  Miranda,  "  how  very  odd  !  " 
"  Nerves  are  odd,"  he  replied,  sharply ;  "  she's  in 
a  low  nervous  state,  and  she  must  be  got  out  of  it." 
And  he  frowned  at  Miranda  as  if  she  was  contra- 
dicting him.  "  I'll  send  some  medicine  ;  give  her 
oceans  of  beef  tea  at  short  intervals,"  to  Mrs. 
Green,  "and  bushels  of  eggs,  and  a  glass  of  my 
medicine  at  twelve  and  at  four  every  day.  It  looks 
like  senna,"  he  cried,  fiercely  fixing  his  eyes  with  a 
stare  of  defiance  on  Miranda,  "but  it's  not  senna.'' 
Then  he  added  in  a  whisper  to  Mrs.  Green,  "if  it 
tastes  too  much  like  good  old  port,  put  some  ginger 
or  some  asafcetida  into  it ;  but  make  her  take  it 
anyhow." 


n6         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Green  aloud, 
"  for  the  best  of  gents,  be  the  other  who  he  may." 

The  three  separated  on  the  first  floor,  Mrs.  Green 
going  down  t6  her  kitchen,  and  Miranda  returning 
to  her  sister's  room,  to  work  there  by  her  bedside, 
but  first  to  give  her  the  roses,  and  ask  her,  with 
many  kisses,  if  she  did  not  think  the  beautiful, 
bright  flowers  would  really  make  her  well. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Sophy,  with  a  vague,  foolish 
smile. 

"  You  are  so  fond  of  roses  ;  you  know  you  are," 
cried  Miranda,  quite  appealingly. 

"They  are  so  pretty,"  said  Sophy,  in  the  same 
meaningless  way  ;  "  and  all  these  came  from  my 
grave." 

"From  where?'''  cried  the  other,  almost  in  a 
scream. 

"  Didn't  they  ? "  said  Sophy,  still  with  the  foolish 
smile  on  her  face  ;  "  I  thought  I  saw  them." 

"  But  where  did  you  say  ?  "  urged  Miranda,  en- 
treatingly. 

Sophy  kept  smiling  at  her  in  the  same  way,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  Dear  Sophy,"  cried  Miranda,  "  I  didn't  hear 
what  you  really  said  ;  but  never  mind,  I  won't  tease 


SUNDAY.  II7 

you.  There  is  such  a  quantity  I've  got  to  tell  you 
if  you'd  like  to  hear  it.  Do  you  think  you  would  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes/'  said  Sophy,  with  vague  placidity. 

"  Such  a  quantity  ! "  repeated  Miranda  ;  "  things 
have  been  happening,  and  things  used  never  to 
happen.  First  and  foremost,  what  do  you  think  ? 
I  went  to  a  ball  next  door  in  Miss  Hitchcock's  wed- 
ding dress  ! "  And  she  looked  full  in  her  sister's 
face,  and  spoke  with  the  air  of  a  person  who  intend-, 
ed  to  cause  a  great  deal  of  astonishment. 

But  Sophy  remained  quite  unruffled. 

•'  Oh  yes,"  was  all  she  said,  and  in  just  the  same 
voice  and  manner  as  she  had  uttered  the  other  "  Oh 
yes." 

"  What !  you  knew  it  ? "  cried  Miranda,  amazed 
in  her  turn.  "  Oh,  you  sly  thing — oh,  you  dear  old 
sly  thing  ! "  and  she  kissed  her  again.  Miranda 
was  very  fond  of  kissing  Sophy.  "  So  you  knew 
it  all  the  time  !  And  I  danced ;  oh !  Sophy,  I 
danced  ;  it  was  delicious." 

"  I  danced  too,"  said  Sophy,  "with  George." 

"  Ah !  poor  Sophy,  yes,  you  did,  long  ago ;  but 
don't  think  about  that  now.  I  want  to  amuse  you. 
Listen  to  all  I  have  got  to  tell.  I  danced  with 
Lady  Gregory's  nephew,  and  he's  delightful.  I  met 


n8         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

him  again  to-day  at  Madame  La  Gai's  ;  and  we 
have  long  conversations.  What  a  charming  thing 
conversation  is !  I'd  no  idea  it  was  ever  anything 
like  that.  Sometimes  it  might  almost  be  better 
than  even  dancing.  And  then  only  think,  ladies 
came  in,  and  they  made  me  sing,  and  they  said  I 
was  a  soprano,  and  a  beauty  ;  and  I  believe, perhaps, 
I'm  going  to  sing  at  their  charade  party.  There 
was  a  very  nice  girl,  a  little  vulgar  ;  but  ladies  are 
just  a  little  vulgar,,  aren't  they,  Sophy!  " 

Miranda  paused  for  a  reply,  and  found  that  Sophy 
was  fast  asleep,  with  the  foolish  smile  still  lingering 
on  her  face. 

Mrs.  Green  strictly  obeyed  all  the  artist-doctor's 
orders,  and  administered  eggs,  beef  tea,  and  the 
suspicious  medicine — which  was  not  senna,  and 
was  cautioned  against  tasting  like  good  old  port — 
•at  short  intervals  to  her  patient.  The  result  of 
this  judicious  treatment  was,  that  by  the  following 
morning  the  poor  woman  seemed  better  and 
brighter,  and  the  vague,  wandering  look  had  gone 
out  of  her  eyes. 

The  following  morning  was  Sunday.  Miranda 
loved  Sunday,  and  no  cloistered  nun  ever  said  her 
prayers  with  more  intense  devoutness  than  did  that 


SUNDAY.  n9 

innocent  child,  as  week  after  week  she  knelt 
reverently  down  in  the  crowded  London  church. 

Dressed  in  her  simple  Sunday  finery,  with 
her  prayer-book  in  her  hand,  and  her  face  as 
fresh  as  a  field  flower,  she  tripped  gayly  down 
the  steps  and  along  the  street  on  the  day  in 
question.  Somebody  saw  her  from  his  first  floor 
window,  where  he  was  contentedly  smoking  his 
pipe ;  and,  drawn  by  the  irresistible  attractions  of 
youth,  beauty,  and  goodness,  somebody  came 
lumbering  down  the  stairs  and  plunging  out  of 
the  door  to  join  her  ere  she  was  half-way  down 
the  street. 

"  Good-morning,  Miranda  ;  not  your  name,  you 
know — hers,"  said  Mr.  Gaunt. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  you  ? "  said  she,  smiling,  and  frankly 
giving  him  her  hand ;  "  how  do  you  do  ?  What  a 
delicious  day  !  Dont  you  love  Sunday  ? " 

"  H'm  !  pretty  well  ;  yes,  of  course  ;  uncommon. 
It's  a  day  of  rest,  you  know." 

"  It's  such  a  lovely  plan,"  said  Miranda,  "  and  so 
kind!" 

"  How  much  ?"  asked  the  artist.  "  Beg  pardon  ; 
but  I  don't  follow.  What  is  ?  " 

"  Why,  Sunday,  to  be  sure,"  cried  she  ;  "  it  is  so 


120         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

kind  to  make  it  a  duty — rest  and  prayer  ;  and  to 
make  them  duties,  when  they  might  be  onAy pleasures, 
you  know.  Such  lovely  duties,  to  be  bound  to  rest 
and  pray  one  day  in  every  seven.  Is  it  not  a  beau- 
tiful thing?" 

"  What  a  good  girl  you  are  !  "  was  his  only  reply, 
looking  very  kindly  into  her  radiant  face. 

"  Are  you  coming  to  my  church  ?  "  asked  she, 
smiling. 

"  I  was  going  to  mine." 

"  Which  is  that  ?  " 

"Well,  it's  the  fields,  or  anywhere  I  can  get  to 
soonest  out  of  the  dirt  and  din." 

"  Oh !  you  pray  there  ? "  She  looked  a  little  serious. 

"  Did  you  ever  try  it  ?  "  asked  he,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Instead  of  church  ? "  she  said,  still  serious  and 
gently  shaking  her  head.  "  Oh  no  ;  I'm  not  good 
enough  ;  that  only  does  for  quite  holy  people  who 
are  sure  of  themselves.  I  want  the  church  with  its 
walls  to  keep  me  safe.  I  couldn't  trust  myself  quite 
without  it." 

"  If  not  you,  who  ?  "  said  he  laconically ;  and  his 
words  somehow  sounded  like  the  translation  of  an 
Italian  proverb,  but  I  never  heard  of  any  proverb, 
Italian  or  otherwise,  the  least  like  them.  "  Well, 


SUNDAY.  I2I 

I'm  going  to  your  church,  then,  to-day.  May  I  go 
with  you  ?  " 

She  smiled  her  consent,  and  they  walked  on 
together. 

"  Sophy  is  so  much  better,"  she  said  ;  "  and  I 
think  it's  all  your  doing.  How  can  we  ever  thank 
you  enough  ? " 

"  Lor'  bless  you  !  it's  nothing.  I  like  doctoring 
people.  I've  a  hankering  after  the  old  trade  yet; 
it's  the  best  going,  but  one.  If  I  wasn't  a  painter, 
I'd  rather  be  a  doctor  than  a  king." 

"  It's  the  most  useful  of  the  two,"  said  Miranda, 
with  decision. 

"  Which  ? "  said  he  ;  "  there's  three  mentioned. 
Now,  look  here,  a  doctor's  more  useful  than  a  king, 
and  an  artist's  more  useful  than  a  doctor." 

"  No,  hardly  that.  I  think  you  would  have  some 
difficulty  in  proving  that." 

"  Should  I  ?  Difficulty  be — hanged  !  Here  goes. 
Kings  would  die  without  doctors,  and  doctors 
only  make  man  fit  to  'be  painted ;  moreover,  the 
works  of  doctors  die  in  the  bodies  of  men, 
and  by  painters'  works  the  bodies  of  men  live 
for  ever." 

Then  he  gave  himself  a  great  stretch  and  yawn, 


I22         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

and  said,  "  Hullo  !  what  a  lot  x)f  nonsense  one  does 
talk  to  women,  to  be  sure,  poor  souls." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  church,  and 
were  shown  by  the  pew-  opener  into  different  seats. 

As  Miranda,  on  the  completion  of  the  service, 
was  leaving  the  building,  she  was  surprised  at  being 
accosted  by  a  lady ;  and  she  was  more  surprised, 
when  awakened,  by  being  so  accosted,  from  the 
gentle  reverie  in  which  the  act  of  prayer  had  left 
her,  to  perceive  that  this  lady  was  Miss  Hitchcock. 
Miss  Hitchcock,  looking  as  cross  and  brown  as  ever, 
having  arrayed  herself — by  the  directions  surely  of 
some  malicious  imp  who  appeared  always  ready  to 
direct  her  taste  to  what  was  most  unbecoming  to 
that  cross,  brown  face — in  a  pale  blue  dress,  and  a 
tuft  of  blonde  and  forget-me-nots  on  the  top  of  her 
chignon,  by  way  of  a  bonnet. 

"  Can  you  come  to  my  house,  Eaton  Square,  to- 
morrow at  three  ?  "  asked  she,  in  her  pleasant  voice. 
"  I  have  some  instructions  about  that  mantle  I  want 
to  give  you.  Madame  La  Gai  has  sent  it  to  me, 
and  there  is  something  not  quite  right  about  the  fit." 

"  To  your  house  ?  "  said  Miranda  ;  "  that  would  be 
very  nice."  Then  she  added,  seeing  that  Miss 
Hitchcock  was  staring  at  her  in  haughty  surprise. 


SUNDAY.  123 

Oh  !  I  beg  your  pardon.  How  stupid  I  am  !  Of 
course  I  will  come,  if  you  wish  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  Miss  Style  they  say  you 
are  so  like,  and  that  you  certainly  are  like  ?  "  asked 
the  lady,  not  in  the  least  relaxing  her  haughty  stare. 

Miranda  blushed  scarlet,  and  laughed  nervously. 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  feel 
quite  sure  whether  they  meant  me  or  somebody 
else."  Then  suddenly  stopping,  she  blushed  deeper 
and  laughed  more,  but  this  time  it  was  a  laugh  of  real 
amusement.  "  What  an  idiot  I  am !  "  said  she. 

"  Masquerading  is  a  very  foolish  thing,"  said  Miss 
Hitchcock. 

"  She  knows  !  "  thought  poor  Miranda,  and  she 
almost  wondered  how  she  survived  the  thought. 
"  What  ?  "  she  cried,  faintly. 

"  Oh,  never  mind, "  said  Miss  Hitchcock  ;  "  per- 
haps you  understand  me,  and  if  you  don't,  there's 
no  harm  done  ;  "  and  so,  without  another  word,  she 
turned  down  the  street  and  walked  away. 

"  She  must  know,"  cried  Miranda,  almost  wring- 
ing her  hands.  There  is  nothing  else  she  can  mean. 
Oh  !  I  never  shall  have  courage  to  go  to  her — never, 
never." 

And  yet  as  the  day  went  on — the  long,  dull,  city 


HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIA'G  DRESS. 

Sunday,  spent  in  Sophy's  garret — Miranda,  found 
her  thoughts  for  ever  turning  to  the  coming  mor- 
row, and  the  visit  to  Miss  Hitchcock,  Eaton  Square. 
The  little  changes  that  had  recently  come  into  her 
life  made  her  long  for  more.  She  would  not  call 
that  life  dull ;  she  would  not  allow  herself  to  repine 
or  even  to  wish  ;  but  when  a  variety  was  offered  to 
her,  she  grasped  at  it  eagerly,  and  was  most  unwill- 
ing to  let  it  go.  Thus  she  felt  frightened  to  death 
at  Miss  Hitchcock,  and  the  thought  that  she  had 
found  out  that  she  had  gone  to  that  ball  and  worn 
her  wedding  dress  kept  coming  across  her  mind  as 
something  almost  too  horrid  to  be  true,  and  she  told 
herself  over  and  over  again  that  she  never  could 
muster  up  courage  to  go  to  Eaton  Square  next  day  ; 
and  yet  she  really  meant  to  go  all  the  time,  and  had 
anything  happened  to  prevent  her,  it  would  have 
been  a  cruel  disappointment. 

She  read  to  herself  and  to  Sophy,  or  chatted  to 
and  fed  the  latter  during  all  that  long,  dull  Sunday 
afternoon  and  evening ;  but  her  thoughts  wandered 
continually  to  Miss  Hitchcock  and  her  wedding 
dress.  Suddenly  Sophy  called  her  up  to  her  bed- 
side, and  said  in  a  very  quiet  voice,  "  Who  is  that 
sitting  by  the  table,  Miranda  ?  " 


SUNDAY.  125 

"  I  was  sitting  there,  dear." 

"  No,  not  you — I  know  you.  I  mean  the  strange 
lady.  You've  got  a  party,  I  see.  My  dear,  you  will 
never  be  able  to  pay  for  all  those  candles  ! " 

"  There  is  only  one  candle,  dear  Sophy,  and  nobody 
in  the  world  here  but  me.  Oh  !  what  do  you  mean  ! " 

"  There  is  a  strange  lady,"  said  Sophy  ;  and  she 
tried  to  raise  her  head  from  the  pillow,  and  tried  to 
bow  towards  the  table  in  a  ghastly  sort  of  way, 
which  sent  Miranda  flying  affrighted  down  stairs — 
not  this  time  to  Mrs.  Green's  kitchen,  but  to  the 
drawing-room  on  the  first  floor. 

Two  men  were  sitting  smoking  together  at  the 
table,  on  which  stood  bottles  and  glasses. 

"  She  is  going  mad !  "  panted  Miranda.  "  Oh  ! 
please,  come  directly.  Don't  wait  a  minute." 

"  Hullo  !  "  cried  one  of  the  men. 

"  Bless  us  and  save  us  ! "  said  the  other. 

But  both  rose,  and  the  one  she  knew  advanced 
towards  her  out  of  the  smoke,  leaving  the  other  a 
dim  and  demon-like  figure  within  it. 

"  She  says  there  is  a  strange  lady  at  the  table," 
said  Miranda  ;  "  and  she  keeps  bowing  to  her.  Oh  ! 
don't  let  her  bow  to  her — please  don't  ;  "  and  she 
began  to  cry. 


I26          MfSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Mr.  Gaunt. 

His  voice  rang  through  the  room,  and  there  was 
support  and  comfort  in  its  strong,  cheery  sound  that 
went  straight  to  Miranda's  heart.  She  smiled  amid 
her  tears,  and  taking  hold  of  his  great  arm  in  her 
two  white  little  hands,  led  him  away  to  the  door — he 
looking  down  at  her  with  a  tender  sort  of  expres- 
sion, that  beamed  oddly,  but  not  unbecomingly,  from 
under  his  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  then  glancing  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  dim  form  in  the  smoke. 

"  A  co-lodger,  Ned,"  said  he,  "  with  a  sick  sister. 
I've  turned  sawbones  again  for  the  nonce." 

"  All  right,  old  fellow,"  replied  Ned.  "  You  go 
where  glory  waits  you,  and  / '//  finish  the  bottle — a 
fair  field  and  no  favor.  What's  the  odds  as  long 
as  you're  'appy !  "  and  he  waved  his  hand  jauntily 
through  the  smoke  at  Miranda. 

But  Miranda  was  not  thinking  of  him  or  of  Mr. 
Gaunt,  or  of  anyone  but  Sophy  ;  and  with  hurry 
and  alarm  in  her  manner,  and  the  tears  still  stream- 
ing down  her  cheeks,  she  ran  before  her  doctor  back 
into  Sophy's  room. 

Sophy  was  sitting  up  in  the  bed,  with  a  rather 
frightened  expression  on  her  face. 

"  They  have  all  gone  away,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of 


SUNDAY.  127 

complaint ;  "  it  is  very  lonely.  George  might  have 
stayed  ;  "  and  then  she  moaned. 

"  Who  is  George  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Gaunt. 

Sophy  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"  My  George,"  she  said. 

Was  she  thinking  of  a  lover  ?  poor  thing  !  and 
looking  almost  as  unfit  for  love  as  the  old  woman  in 
the  mine,  who  fell  weeping  on  the  neck  of  the 
beautiful  lad  who  had  gone  to  sleep  there  fifty  years 
ago,  and  was  found  with  the  glory  of  his  youth  un- 
dimmed  by  time — that  most  pathetic  story  of  death- 
less love,  when  the  two  who  had  once  been  all  the 
world  to  each  other,  meeting  at  the  end  of  a  long 
life,  the  one  covered  with  wrinkles,  and  the  other 
without  a  line  on  his  smooth  face,  fill  us  with  won- 
der as  to  how  they  will  meet  in  heaven. 

"  Oh  !  don't  you  mind  about  George,"  said  Mr. 
Gaunt,  cheerfully.  "  He's  safe  enough,  but  he  can't 
come  here  till  you're  better,  you  know  ;  you're  not 
very  well,  you  see,  and  all  yoiive  got  to  do  is  to  get 
well  as  fast  as  you  can.  Now  do  be  a  brick  and  get 
well ;  do,  please,  be  .a  brick." 

Sophy  had  composed  herself  in  the  bed  by  this 
time,  and  the  excited  look  went  out  of  her  face.  Mr. 
Gaunt  was  mixing  something  in  a  glass  while  he 


128          MS-S-S  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS 

was  talking  (he  had  given  Mrs.  Green  a  few  simple 
medicines  for  occasional  use,  and  they  were  in  the 
room  ready),  which  he  presently,  in  a  cool,  matter- 
of-fact  way,  handed  to  Sophy  and  bade  her  drink. 
She  instantly  obeyed,  and  in  five  minutes  more  was 
fast  asleep. 

"  She'll  do,  bless  her  poor  old  heart,"  said  he  to 
Miranda,  after  watching  the  calm  slumber  for  a 
short,  silent  time.  "  Who's  George  ? " 

"Oh  !  will  she  really  do  ?"  cried  she,  clasping  her 
hands,  and  unconsciously  repeating  his  words.  "  Oh  ! 
she  isn't  mad  ! " 

"  Mad  !  fiddlesticks — it's  just  nerves  and  weak- 
ness. She'll  be  much  better  to-morrow.  I've  given 
her  what  will  make  her  sleep  as  sound  as  a  top. 
Who's  George  ?  " 

Miranda  blushed  vividly. 

"  He  was — papa's — curate,"  said  she,  in  a  slow, 
hesitating  manner. 

"  Hullo !  "  cried  Mr.  Gaunt,  looking  at  her  keenly ; 
"  was  he  your  George  too  ? " 

"  I  was  a  child,"  said  she  with  dignity. 

"  And  Sophy/'  cried  he,  "  your  sister  ?  " 

"  We  all  liked  George  ;  he  was  a  brother  to  us," 
said  frank  Miranda,  with  sudden  reticence,  when 


SUNDAY.  I29 

maidenly  modesty  bade  her  guard  poor  Sophy's 
secret. 

"  And  nothing  more  to  her  ?  "  questioned  he,  quite 
unabashed  by  her  manner. 

"  Does  he  really  think  I  will  tell  him  of  my  sister's 
lover  ? "  said  she  to  herself,  all  aglow  with  indignation. 

"  He  was  papa's  curate  and  our  dear  friend,"  was 
her  answer,  given  at  once  with  spirit  and  reserve. 

"  Oh  !  just  as  you  like  ;  please  yourself,"  replied 
Mr.  Gaunt,  cavalierly ;  "  only  it  might  just  be  the 
saving  of  her  to  make  him  give  her  a  call  ;  that's  all. 
But  just  as  you  like  ;  it's  nothing  to  me." 

"  He  is  in  India,"  said  Miranda,  and  at  the  same 
moment  melted  into  tears. 

"  Oh !  come  now,  don't  cry,"  said  he,  quite 
mollified.  "  Of  course  I'm  a  brute — I  always  am 
when  I'm  tried — only  I  didn't  mean  it ;  don  t  you 
cry — there's  a  dear.  If  George  is  in  India,  he  can't 
call  at  No.  14  Denham  Street,  London,  N.W. 
George  can't,  and  we  must  just  cure  Miss  Sophy 
without  him,  Only  the  other  would  have  been  the 
easiest  way  ;  that's  all." 

Miranda  smiled  through  her  tears. 

"  You're  an  out-and-out  angel,"  said  Mr.  Gaunt. 
"  I'm  never  with  you  but  I  catch  myself  looking  for 


130          MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

the  wings.  I  say,  what  do  you  think  of  such  a 
rough  old  codger  as  I  am  ? " 

"  I  think  you  are  very  kind,"  said  she  laughing. 

"  No ;  do  you  now  ? "  he  cried,  holding  out  his 
hand  to  her.  "  Shake  hands  upon  it  then,  and  don't 
let  us  misunderstand  each  other." 

Her  little,  white  hand  instantly  sought  his,  and 
nestling  down  for  a  moment  like  a  bird  was  lost  to 
sight  in  his  great  one. 

"  Such  a  paw  as  mine  is  !  "  cried  he,  disgusted. 
"  Just  look  at  yours,"  and  he  held  it  up  for  a  moment 
ere  he  let  her  resume  it  for  her  own. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  don't  wish  it 
to  be  like  that  one." 

And  she  glanced  at  his,  and  laughed  roguishly, 
while  she  caressed  her  own  rosy  fingers. 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  "  cried  he,  and  laughed  too,  with 
a  great,  hearty  haw,  haw,  haw  ;  then  stopped  abashed, 
looked  at  Sophy,  and  said,  "  Don't." 

"  I  didn't,"  said  Miranda. 

"  Oh  yes,  but  you  did,  though,"  said  he  ;  "  it  was 
your  doing,  you  know.  And  you  needn't  mind  ;  she 
won't  wake  easy — she'll  sleep  hard." 

"  And  now,"  said  Miranda,  "  don't  you  think  you'd 
better  go  away  ?  " 


SUNDAY..  131 

She  spoke  coaxingly,  and  looked  enchanting. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  he,  with  a  sort  of  good-natured 
crossness  ;  "of  course  I  had.  I've  been  of  no  use, 
and  now  I  may  go — suck  the  orange  and  throw  it 
away,  hey  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  fshe,  laughing  ;  "  I  hope  the  orange 
will  roll  back  again,  and  find  Sophy  better  to- 
morrow." 

"  Good-night,  and  God  bless  you ! "  said  Mr. 
Gaunt,  fervently,  and  he  was  gone. 

"  How  kind  people  are,"  thought  Miranda ;  "  how 
kind  everybody  is  ;  oh  !  it  is  such  a  nice  world  ; " 
and  so  she  went  to  bed  and  slept  as  soundly  as  Sophy, 
without  a  sleeping  draught. 

The  next  day  Sophy  was  better. 

Miranda  worked  hard  all  the  morning,  and  then 
ate  her  early  solitary  dinner.  Her  watch  was  too 
fast,  and  she  arrived  at  Eaton  Square  at  a  quarter 
past  two,  instead  of  at  three  o'clock.  The  conse- 
quence was  that  Miss  Hitchcock  had  not  returned 
from  a  luncheon  party  at  a  friend's,  and  that  Miss 
Hitchcock's  maid  had  taken  the  opportunity  of  her 
mistress's  absence  to  absent  herself  also  ;  and  the 
consequence  of  this  was  that  the  footman  having 
received  no  orders  what  to  do  with  Miranda,  and 


1 32          MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

taking  her  for  a  young  lady,  showed  her  straight  up 
into  the  back  drawing-room,  where  she  found  her- 
self face  to  face  and  tete-a-tete  with  Lady  Gregory's 
nephew. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

THEY  stared  at  each  other. 
"  Is  it  possible  !  "  cried  Miranda,  in  accents 
of  delight. 

But  if  she  was  delighted,  what  was  he  ?  He 
looked,  at  first,  as  if  he  did  not  believe  his  eyes  or 
his  senses.  Then  an  expression  of  actual  gratitude 
rushed  into  his  face,  and  then  one  of  rapture. 

"  It  is  you  ? "  he  cried,  and  took  both  her  hands 
in  his,  and  gazed  down  at  her  fair  face  till  it — at  first 
raised  so  frankly  to  his — was  turned  away,  covered 
with  blushes. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  he 
dropped  her  hands  and  spoke  with  an  odd,  forced 
calmness. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  I  had  lost 
you  ? " 

"  But  why  ?  "  replied  she,  a  little  shyly.  "  Why, 
did  you  not  expect  we  should  meet  again  ?  " 


!34         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Why  did  you  play  me  such  tricks,  then  ?  " 

Then  she  began  to  laugh,  but  to  blush  at  the  same 
time  very  bright. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  have  you  really  found  it  out  ? " 

"  Have  I  really  found  it  out  ?  Of  course  I  have," 
replied  he  ;  "  how  could  I  help  finding  it  out  ?  I 
dined  at  Mrs.  Nesbit's  on  Thursday,  as  I  told  you 
I  would.  Dull  dinners  she  always  gives,  and  nothing 
could  have  induced  me  to  enter  the  house,  as  I  also 
told  you,  except  the  idea  of  meeting  you  ;  and  then 
the  first  thing  I  hear  is,  that  you  left  her  the  morning 
after  my  aunt's  ball.  Where  are  you  staying?" 

He  spoke  in  the  tone  of  a  spoiled  child,  or — shall 
we  say  ? — a  "  curled  darling,"  who  naturally  resent- 
ed the  ruffling  of  a  single  rose-leaf  under  his  feet. 

"  What  did  she  tell  you  ? "  was  Miranda's  only 
reply. 

"Well,  I  did  not  give  you  up  till  dinner  was  actu- 
ally announced.  Of  course"— in  a  tone  of  great 
ill-usage — "  I  had  to  take  Mrs.  Nesbit  in,  and  then  " 
— as  if  it  was  a  still  greater  injury—"  I  didn't  even 
know  your  name  ;  so  after  feeling  about  in  the  dark 
a  little,  and  gaining  nothing  by  it,  I  asked  boldly 
what  had  become  of  the  young  lady  she  had  taken 
to  the  ball  with  her  ?  " 


FRIENDSHIP.  135 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Why,  what  could  she  say,  but  that  you  had  left 
her  next  morning  ?  " 

"No!  did  she  really?" 

"  Oh  !  you  had  primed  her  with  some  stories,  had 
you  ?  she  was  in  the  great  plot,  was  she  ?  Well, 
then,  let  me  warn  you  against  her.  She  is  a  trai- 
tor ;  she  answered  me  in  the  simplest  manner,  as  if 
I  had  asked  her  the  merest  everyday  question  ;  and 
when  I  ventured  a  step  further,  and  inquired  your 
name,  she  told  me  it  was — " 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Miranda,  breathless. 

"  Style." 

Miranda  looked  at  him  with  wide-opened  eyes  for 
half-a-second,  after  which  she  made  a  slight  move- 
ment, as  if  she  was  then  and  there  going  to  begin  to 
dance,  but,  instead  thereof,  sank  into  a  chair,  and 
abandoned  herself  to  a  fit  of  laughter — the  sweetest, 
the  merriest,  and  the  most  inextinguishable  that,  it 
appeared  to  Lady  Gregory's  nephew,  he  had  ever 
heard, 

He  could  hardly  resist  joining  in  it  himself,  and 
yet,  somehow  or  other,  this  very  laughter  seemed  an 
injury  to  him. 

"  Have  not  you  laughed  enough  ?  "  said  he  at  last, 


I36         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

discontentedly.  "  I  am  sure  I  have  not  the  slightest 
idea  what  there  is  to  laugh  at,  at  all." 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  of  course  you  have  not ;  that 
is  what  makes  it  so  amusing.  Don't  you  see  it 
would  be  nothing  without  that  f  " 

"  Oh  !  very  well,"  he  replied,  "  but  it's  rather 
waste  of  time,  isn't  it  ?  We  have  just  these  few 
minutes  to  be  together,  and  you  do  nothing  but 
laugh.  That  woman  will  be  here  directly." 

"  What !  Mrs.  Nesbit  ?  "  cried  Miranda,  affrighted. 

"  No,  no  !  of  course  not ,  I  mean  Miss  Hitchcock." 

"  Well,  as  it's  her  own  house,"  said  she,  smiling, 
"  it's  hard  to  speak  of  her  in  that  voice  for  coming 
into  it,  isn't  it  ?  I  think  she  has  a  right  to  do  that" 

"I  don't  know, "  he  replied.  "There  seems  to 
me,  just  at  present,  to  be  no  rights,  except  those  of 
one  soul  over  another." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  this  ;  when  two  people  meet — but  I'm 
not  sure  whether  it's  wise  to  tell  you." 

"  Oh  yes  ;  it's  wise  to  tell  me  anything." 

"  Is  it  ?     I  wish  I  was  certain  of  that." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,  it's  wise  to  tell  me  anything 
I  want  to  hear." 

"  I  dare  say,"  smiling  and  shaking  his  head  at  her. 


FRIENDSHIP.  !37 

"  Well,  then,  the  upshot  of  what  I  mean  is,  that  two 
people  like  you  and  me  have  a  better  right  to  talk 
together  than  a  woman  has  to  come  into  a  house 
because  it  happens  to  be  her  own." 

She  puzzled  a  little  over  this,  as  if  not  quite  catch- 
ing his  meaning,  then  she  looked  at  him.  How 
handsome  he  was,  and  how  much  more  than  hand- 
some ;  such  a  distinguished  air — such  refinement 
and  ease  in  every  movement  and  gesture  ;  a  self- 
contained  man,  who  was — what  he  was — independ- 
ent of  others,  because  he  was  really  himself.  What 
an  irresistible  attraction  she  found  in  his  careless, 
almost  scornful  grace — in  the  light  that  shone  in 
his  eyes,  and  the  smile  that  played  about  his  mouth  ; 
a  man  who  was  one  thing,  till  he  spoke  to  her,  and 
then  became  another.  Had  she  really  some  power 
over  him  that  others  had  not,  and  was  that  what  he 
meant  ?  What  a  delightful  thing  friendship  was  ? 
But  was  it  really  possible  that  he  and  she  were  to  be 
friends  ? 

"  You  and  me  ?  "  she  repeated,  doubtfully  ;  "  that 
is  to  say,  Mr.  Gregory  and — Miss  Style  ?  " 

Now  it  was  his  turn  to  look  a  little  puzzled, 
especially  at  the  soft,  anxious  expression  in  her 
lovely  eyes. 


I38          MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  No,  no,"  he  cried  earnestly,  trying  to  follow 
her  thoughts,  and  watching  her  as  he  spoke — "  not 
Mr.  or  Miss  anything,  but  just  the  souls  and  bodies 
that  make  us,  whatever  our  stations  in  life  or  arbi- 
trary names  may  be." 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  with  a  little  happy  sigh,  "  but  that 
would  be  true  friendship." 

"  As  true  as  steel,"  he  cried,  his  face  in  a  glow. 

"  And  in  such  a  little  time,"  she  said,  looking 
quite  appealingly  at  him." 

"  Oh,  don't  fall  into  that  mistake — that  conven- 
tionalism," he  cried  ;  "  it  is  quite,  quite  unworthy  of 
you.  Some  people  we  know  in  five  minutes,  and 
love  in  five  minutes ;  and  others  we  could  never 
know  and  never  love,  not  in  five  years,  or  in  fifty- 
five  years,  or  five  hundred  years." 

"  That  is  quite  true,"  she  replied,  with  the  sweet- 
est smile  of  acquiescence.  "  I  have  often  felt  that, 
in  little  ways  before  about  people,  but  never  like 
this — never  half  so  much  as  now." 

His  heart  beat  fast  as  he  heard  her  words,  and  the 
color  rushed  to  his  face,  but  he  restrained  himself, 
and  scarcely  dared  let  himself  breathe,  in  his  anxi- 
ety to  hide  the  delight  they  gave  him.  In  her  per- 
fect unconsciousness,  her  innocence,  and  her  sim- 


FRIENDSHIP.  139 

plicity,  he  felt,  lay  his  best  chance ;  to  disturb  that 
too  soon,  was  to  throw  down  the  foundations  on 
which  he  trusted  to  erect  his  castle,  before  he  had 
a  hope  of  putting  others  in  their  place. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause,  in  a 
calm,  sorrowful  voice,  "  that  I  have  had  very  few 
friends  in  my  life  ?  " 

"  Really  !  "  she  answered,  surprised.  "  But  that 
must  have  been  your  own  doing,  I  suppose  ;  I  could 
fancy  you  care  for  very  few  people." 

"  I  did  not  begin  life  so,"  he  cried,  eagerly  ;  "  do 
any  of  us  ?  I  had  my  hopes,  loves,  enthusiasms,  but 
I  was  unfortunate  ;  in  some  things  I  was  more  unfor- 
tunate than  most  of  us  are  ;  my  father — never — 
liked  me." 

"  Your  father — your  own  father  ?  "  she  exclaimed, 
in  unbelieving  tones. 

"  My  own  father,"  he  answered,  quietly  ;  "  he 
was  not  a — good — man." 

"  Oh  !  how  I  pity  you  !  "  she  cried,  her  soft  eyes 
filling  \vith  tears,  and  looking  at  him  as  if  she  would 
have  done  anything  to  comfort  him  ;  "and  mine  was 
the  best  man  in  the  world  !  Oh  !  what  could  one  do 
under  such  a  sorrow,  you  poor  boy  ! "  Her  mind 
had  gone  into  the  past,  and  she  was  vividly  imagining 


I4o         MfSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

him  a  boy  with  a  bad  father.  "  What  did  you 
do  ?  " 

He  was  thinking  more  of  her  than  of  himself. 
Her  delicious  pity  would  have  comforted  him  un- 
der a  worse  affliction  than  the  one  which,  per- 
haps, he  had  never  before  alluded  to,  to  any  living 
creature. 

"  I  ran  away,"  he  replied,  after  feasting  for  a  few 
happy,  silent  seconds  on  her  sweet  compassion. 

"  You  ran  away  !  "  she  cried,  charmed  with  the 
idea,  and  thinking  to  herself — "What  a  hero  you 
are  ; "  and  her  eyes  expressed  the  thought  plainly 
enough  through  their  long  lashes,  though  her  tongue 
did  not  speak. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 
"  What  ages  ago  it  seems  !  Will  the  next  eighteen 
years  contain  a  whole  life,  I  wonder  ?  How  strange 
it  is  to  me  to  think  that  /  was  that  suffering  boy  ! 
Eighteen  years  hence,  shall  I  look  back  on  the  man 
I  am  now  with  the  same  strange  sensation  of  another 
self?" 

"  Eighteen  years  hence  !  *'  cried  Miranda.  "  Why, 
I  shall  be  nearly  forty  !  " 

Whereat  they  both  laughed,  and  I  cannot  say  I 
wonder  at  them.  The  idea  of  its  being  possible 


FRIENDSHIP.  141 

that  that  lovely  impersonation  of  youth  should  ever 
be  nearly  forty  did  seem  supremely  ridiculous. 

But  Miranda  felt  as  if  she  was  horribly  unfeeling 
to  laugh  at  such  a  moment. 

"  You  ran  away,"  she  repeated.  "  Oh  !  why  did 
you  do  it  ?  and  where  did  you  run  to  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  stay  in  the  house,"  he  replied,  "  I 
cannot  tell  you  why.  I  loved  my  dead  mother. 
Do  you  know,  I  think  she  was  a  little  like  you  ?  " 

"  Like  me  !  " 

"  At  any  rate,  there  is  a  picture  of  her  hanging 
in  the  great  saloon — taken  when  she  was  a  girl,  be- 
fore she  married — that  has  a  look  of  you  ;  it  is  the 
loveliest  picture  I  ever  saw — you  know  I  never  saw  a 
picture  of  you.  How  I  have  worshipped  it  when  I 
was  a  lad.  Poor  young  mother  !  she  died  too  soon." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  sorry,"  cried  Miranda. 

"  She  brought  me  up  well.  I  wish  I  remembered 
better  all  her  good  teaching,  for  then  I  should  be 
fitter  for — " 

"  For  what  ? " 

"  Never  mind — for  what  I  hope  some  day  to 
attain.  Ask  me  a  week  hence,  and  I  will  tell  you 
—I  hope  I  will  tell  you  a  week  hence." 

"  I  shall  certainly  ask  you." 


1 42          M/SS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Do,  do  ;  and  I  hope  I  shall  certainly  tell  you. 
Do  you  think  there  is  anything  in  the  world  I 
should  like  better  than  to  tell  you  now  ?  only  I 
don't  dare." 

"I  can't  think  what  you  mean,"  replied  Miranda. 
"  But  may  I  tell  you  a  little  about  my  past  life  ? " 
said  he  ;  "I  wish  you  to  know  it.     The  house  was 
full    of  wickedness,  and  I  felt  my    dead    mother's 
memory  insulted  ;  I  felt  that,  though  I  was  such  a 
boy — I  am  glad  I  did  ;  and  I  was  miserable,  and  I 
couldn't  bear  it.    Men  can  bear  misery,  boys  can't." 
"  Oh  !  it  is  so  sad  to  be  miserable,"  sighed  Mi- 
randa. 

I  suppose  it  was  a  very  foolish  remark,  but  it 
sounded  to  him  like  the  wisdom  of  an  angel. 

"And  so  I  set  off  in  the  middle  of  a  summer 
night,  and  walked  a  couple  of  hundred  miles,  I 
daresay — day  and  night,  night  and  day ;  getting  a 
meal  when  or  where  I  could,  sleeping  under  a 
hedge  or  on  a  door-step.  Heigh-ho  !  how  long  ago 
it  all  seems !  " 

"  Well  ? "  she  cried,  breathless. 
"  Well,  at  last  I  reached  a  place  in  Wales,  belong- 
ing to  my  aunt  Gregory,  for  I  thought  she  might 
take  me  in." 


FRIENDSHIP.  I43 

"  Lady  Gregory  ! ?' 

"  Yes,  no  less  a  person  than  Lady  Gregory,  in 
whose  ballroom  we  first  met.  What  a  figure  I 
was  ?  what  a  state  I  was  in  !  David  Copperfield 
was  nothing  to  me  when  he  appeared  before  Betsey 
Trotwood.  I  have  read  that  meeting,  with  thrills 
that  testified  to  its  reality." 

"  Oh  !  go  on." 

"  I  felt  ashamed  to  present  myself,  and  so  I  crept 
into  a  barn,  and,  wrapped  up  in  some  straw,  fell 
asleep,  if  sleep  such  a  stupor  of  fatigue  could  be 
called.  Then  I  was  found  next  morning,  more 
dead  than  alive,  and  carried  into  the  house,  for  I 
could  not  stand  ;  and  I  believe  my  mind  was  all 
astray  for  a  time." 

"  Oh  !  poor  little  boy !  how  I  should  like  to  have 
comforted  you,"  sighed  Miranda,  with  tears  on  her 
cheeks. 

"  You,  my  darling  ! — forgive  me,  I  beg  your  par- 
don ;  the  word  came  of  itself,  I  couldn't  help  it  ; 
the  idea  of  being  comforted  by  you  did  seem  so 
sweet.  But  you  were  hardly  born  then  ;  when  I 
was  twelve  years  old,  what  a  dear  little  toddling 
thing  of  two  or  three  you  must  have  been  !" 

Miranda  could  not  help  comparing  the  graceful 


!  44         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

ease,  the  tender,  penetrating  glance  with  which  he 
apologized  for  his  involuntary  freedom,  with  Mr. 
Gaunt's  "  Beg  pardon,  I'm  perfectly  respectful." 
Can  the  two  men  be  of  the  same  race  ?  she  asked 
herself — both  so  good  and  so  kind  (what  proofs  had 
she  had,  I  wonder,  of  the  goodness  and  kindness  of 
Lady  Gregory's  nephew  ?),  and  yet  one  as  superior 
to  the  other  as  light  to  darkness.  So  thought 
Miranda,  weighing,  as  she  did,  the  two  men  in 
scales  of  her  own  manufacturing.  Perhaps  if  she 
had  then  been  "  nearly  forty "  she  might  have 
judged  differently.  Perhaps  she  will  judge  men 
differently  when  she  is,  perhaps  not. 

"  And  what  happened  ? "  she  asked.  "  Who  did 
comfort  you  ?  poor  boy  !  poor  child  !  I  hope  some 
one  did." 

"  A  little  girl,  who  was  staying  with  my  aunt, 
happened  to  run  into  the  barn  to  play.  She  had  a 
dog  with  her,  that,  routing  about  among  the  straw, 
came  suddenly  upon  my  feet  sticking  out  in  a  corner, 
and  barking  loudly,  drew  her  attention  to  them.  I 
was  covered  with  the  straw  in  which  I  had  rolled 
myself,  but  my  feet,  as  I  said,  stuck  out.  She  seized 
hold  of  them,  and  began  pulling  them  violently." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  compassionate  Miranda,  who,  while 


FRIENDSHIP.  !  4 - 

she  listened,  actually  trembled  with  sorrowful  in- 
terest. 

"  I  groaned,  for  my  feet  were  all  blistered  and 
sore,  and  the  anguish  was  really  too  much.  She 
found  her  hands  covered  with  blood,  and  rushed, 
roaring,  from  the  barn,  telling  everybody  that  there 
were  two  wicked  dead  feet  in  a  barn,  groaning,  and 
somebody  had  been  murdered,  all  but  his  feet !  I 
remember  this  way  of  telling  what  she  had  seen 
became  a  standing  joke  against  her  afterwards." 

"  She  must  have  been  a  very  disagreeable  little 
girl,  I  think,"  said  Miranda. 

"  She  is  a  very  disagreeable  woman  now,"  he  re- 
plied, composedly  ;  "  it  was  Miss  Hitchcock." 

"  Oh  dear ! "  said  Miranda,  "  how  very,  very 
odd!" 

"  But  now,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  told  you  some 
of  my  history,  does  it  make  you  pity  me  a  little  ? 
do  you  feel  a  little  kindly  towards  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  as  if  that  was  necessary. 
But  I  do,  indeed  I  do  ;  I  never  heard  anything  more 
interesting." 

It  requires  very  little  to  interest  a  girl  of  eighteen 
when  it  is  told  to  her  by  a  handsome  man  of  eight- 

and-twenty. 

10 


I46          MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  And  will  it  really  make  you  think  of  me  now 
and  then  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  shall  think  of  you  ? " 

"  I'm  not  fond  of  talking  about  myself — generally 
I  hate  it — but  to-day,  do  you  know,  it  gives  me 
exquisite  pleasure." 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  like  so  much  as 
when  a  friend  talks  to  me  about  himself." 

"  Do  you  really  ?  how  kind  of  you.  I  think  you 
are  the  kindest  person  I  ever  met." 

"But  I  hope  they  were  kind  to  you — your  aunt 
Gregory,  did  she  take  care  of  you  then  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that  was  how  I  was  so  much  thrown  into 
her —  However,  I  went  to  school,  and  after  that  to 
college.  I  was  about  two-and-twenty  when  my 
father  died." 

"  He  is  dead  !     Ah  ! " 

She  was  thinking  of  his  not  being  good.  She 
longed  to  ask  if  he  had  repented,  but  felt  that  the 
subject  was  too  sacred  to  be  handled  by  her. 

"  I  have  something  more  I  wish  to  tell  you,"  con- 
tinued he.  "  I  found  my  property  deeply  in  debt ; 
and  I  was  surrounded  by  advisers  as  to  how  I  might 
avoid  paying  the  debts  ;  but,  though  not  legally 
bound,  I  considered  that  I  was  bound  in  honor,  and 


FRIENDSHIP.  147 

so  by  careful  economy,  in  the  course  of  some  years, 
I  paid  them  all." 

"  How  noble,"  thought  Miranda,  enchanted.  "  It 
is  just  like  the  hero  of  a  novel !" 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  pay  them,"  she  said, 
softly  and  a  little  timidly. 

"  No,  no,"  he  cried  hastily,  and  coloring ;  "  it's 
not  for  that  I  told  you.  An  honorable  man 
couldn't  do  otherwise.  It's  only  that  I  want  you  to 
know  something  about  my  life — to  understand  the 
trials  that  I  have  had,  for  then  you  will  make 
allowances  for  me — it  is  not  that  I  am  praising 
myself." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  that,"  she  cried,  eagerly  ;  "  pray 
don't  suppose  for  a  moment  that  I  thought  other- 
wise." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,"  he  replied.  "  I  believe  you 
understand  me  better  than  anybody  ever  did  before, 
and  I  am  telling  you  more  of  what  I  felt  than  I  have 
ever  told  to  living  soul ;  and  I  will  admit,  then,  that 
it  was  a  hard  time  while  the  debts  were  being  paid. 
Men  did  not  enter  into  it,  and  it  placed  me  at  a  dis- 
advantage with  my  contemporaries ;  it  was  then  that 
I  drew  back  from  many  friendships,  and,  thrown  on 
the  society  of  women — most  affectionately  treated  by 


148          MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

my  aunt  Gregory   and  her  intimates — it  was  then 
that  the  great  mistake  of  my  life  was  made." 

The  meaning,  obscure  as  it  was,  in  this  last  sen- 
tence, Miranda  did  not  take  in  at  all.  She  heard 
the  words,  it  is  true,  and  they  may  recur  to  her  some 
future  day  when  circumstances  have  given  them  a 
meaning,  but  her  mind  was  at  this  moment  so  full 
of  his  noble  life,  that  it  failed  to  remark  there  had 
been  a  mistake  in  it. 

"  Yes,  I  do  understand,"  she  said,  timidly  ;  "  it 
must  have  been  very  hard." 

"  It  was  hard,"  he  said.  "  There  were  things  con- 
nected with  that  time  of  self-denial  I  don't  like  to 
think  of  now  ;  but  I  wish  you  to  think  of  me  some- 
times, and  I  am  so  glad  you  should  know  just  a  lit- 
tle about  my  life.  You  will  think  of  me  sometimes, 
will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  said  Miranda ;  and  then  added, 
simply,  "  how  can  I  help  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  little  but  you  since  we  first 
met,  continued  he,  making  his  voice  as  expression- 
less as  his  glowing  thoughts  would  permit.  "  It  is 
but  fair  you  should  give  me  a  thought  now  and 
then." 

"  Oh  !    but    I — "    began    she,    eagerly  ;    but   she 


FRIENDSHIP.  1 4g 

paused,  blushing,  without  completing  the  sentence. 
Her  innate  modesty  taught  her,  without  teaching, 
that  even  in  friendship  it  was  the  man's  part  to 
make  it,  and  the  woman's  to  receive.  We  never 
hear  of  making  friendship,  and  yet  it  is,  perhaps, 
almost  as  much  an  art  as  making  love. 

"  But  you  ?  "  he  cried.  He  had  been  very  pru- 
dent and  cautious  hitherto.  He  felt  the  extreme 
shortness  of  their  acquaintance,  and  was  in  constant 
fear  of  her  taking  alarm  ;  but  now,  for  a  moment, 
he  slipped  out  of  the  restraint  he  had  put  on  him- 
self, and  could  not  forbear  urging  her — a  kind  word 
or  two  would  be  such  a  sweet  gift  to  carry  home 
with  him.  "  But  you —  ? "'  he  cried. 

Miranda  had  collected  herself,  and  turned  her 
bright  eyes  frankly  on  him. 

"  But  I,"  she  said,  gently,  "  have  promised  to  be 
your  friend,  and  friends  must  think  of  each  other." 

How  he  adored  the  perfect  modesty  of  even  her 
innocent  unconsciousness  ;  how  he  thanked  his  fate 
for  having  thrown  such  a  woman  in  his  way,  and 
given  him  such  chances  of  winning  her ;  how  he 
vowed  in  his  own  heart  that  he  would  win  her ; 
and  while  she  restored  to  him  all  the  beauty  and 
freshness  of  his  lost  youth,  his  whole  life  should  be 


I5o         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

devoted  to  making  hers  happy.  Then  a  horrible 
thought  flashed  across  his  mind — had  she  ever 
cared  for  anybody  else  ?  He  looked  at  her  and  felt 
its  utter  absurdity.  That  child,  with  the  woman 
still  dormant  within  her, 

"  The  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned," 
whom  his  love  was  to  call  into  life  !     Still  he  knew 
the  idea,  once  roused,  would  haunt  him   unless  it 
was  now  laid,  so  it  found  utterance  in  a  question. 

"Are  you  such  a  friend  to  anyone  else?"  he 
said,  afraid  of  his  own  words  as  he  heard  them 
spoken. 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  only  Sophy,"  she  replied,  and  then  a 
flood  of  delight  came  over  her  face  as  she  thought 
of  the  new  joy  he  had  given  to  her  life,  and  he  saw 
that  the  delight  was  for  him. 

It  took  him  a  moment  or  two  to  quiet  himself 
before  he  could  speak  again. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  I  have,  of  course,  some- 
thing more  to  say.  Now  I  must  tell  you  about  "• 
he  stopped — he  was  unwilling  to  speak  the  name- 
unwilling  to  plunge  into  that  part  of  the  subject, 
but  he  felt  it  must  be  done,  and  so,  getting  up  his 
courage,  he  went  on — "  about  Miss  Hitchcock." 


FRIENDSHIP.  151 

"  About   Miss   Hitchcock !"    cried  Miranda,  ex- 
tremely surprised.     "  Why,  what  can  you  have  to 

say—" 

But  here  they  were  interrupted,  and  in  the  most 
unexpected  manner. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

POOR    MISS    HITCHCOCK! 

WHAT  happened  was — a  great  banging  of 
doors,  a  great  scuffling  of  feet,  a  great  mur- 
mur of  voices,  and  several  loud  screams.  The  two 
friends  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
with  one  impulse,  they  both  ran  out  into  the  lobby. 
The  noises,  all  different,  yet  all  mingled  together  in 
a  strange  heap,  continued  ;  but  in  the  back  drawing- 
room  they  could  only  hear — in  the  lobby  they  could 
hear,  and  they  could  also  see. 

What  they  saw  was  this — 

Something  (no,  surely  it  could  not  be  some  one) 
being  carried  up  stairs  by  men,  other  men  following, 
and  a  woman  here  and  there  screaming. 

"  What  is  it  ?  —  what  can  it  be  ?  —  what  is  the 
matter  ?  "  cried  Miranda,  adding  to  the  confusion. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  said  her  companion,  gently. 
"  Nothing  shall  come  near  you  or  harm  you.  Let 
me  go  on  and  see  what  it  is." 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK:  I53 

A  maid-servant  was  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  screaming. 

"  My  mistress,  sir  !  "  she  cried  in  reply  to  his 
calm  inquiries.  "  Miss  Hitchcock,  sir !  Murder ! 
Fire  !  Murder !  Oh !  —oh  !— oh  ! " 

And  the  screams  rose  louder  and  shriller  than 
ever. 

"  It's  only  a  haccident,  sir,"  said  the  coachman, 
from  below,  speaking  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  ; 
"  the  'orses  took  fright — they  did — hand  a  bus  drove 
right  into  hus,  and  smashed  my  poor  carridge  hall 
to  bits." 

"  And  the  lady  too,"  said  a  man  who  was  helping 
to  carry  Miss  Hitchcock  up  stairs.  "  There's  not  two 
bits  put  right  together  in  her  whole  body,  poor  soul !" 

"  Nonsense,  man  ! "  said  a  policeman  ;  "  don't 
terrify  the  gentlefolks.  The  lady's  stunned  sir,  and 
met  with  an  accident  ;  and  there  may  be  some  bones 
broke,  no  doubt ;  but  I  don't  think  she's  killed." 

"  Some  of  you  people,  instead  of  crowding  where 
you're  of  no  use  and  are  not  wanted,  run  off  to  Dr. 
Simpkin's,  No.  4  Brook  Street,  and  bring  him  here 
directly,"  said  Lady  Gregory's  nephew. 

"  Now,  then,  carry  her  into  her  own  room,  and 
put  her  on  the  bed."  Then  turning  to  Miranda, 


HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

he  added,  with  the  utmost  gentleness,  "  Had  you 
not  better  go  back  into  the  drawing-room  ?  it  is  a 
sad  sight,  and  not  fit  for  you." 

Miranda  hesitated.  She  was  quite  unaccustomed 
to  distressing  scenes  and  sights,  and  shrank  from 
them  with  the  sensitiveness  of  youth  ;  but  if  she 
was  now  but  a  girl,  almost  a  child,  she  was,  as  Mr. 
Gregory  (?)  had  felt,  to  be  a  woman  one  day,  and  she 
had  all  a  woman's  noblest  instincts  and  capabilities 
within  her. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said  timidly,  "  I  might  be  of  "some 
use;  the  servant  totems  frightened" 

She  trembled  with  fear  herself  as  she  spoke,  but 
still  she  walked  quite  "bravely  into  the  room  where 
they  were  carrying  her,  or  it — which  ?  Very  often 
our  acts  are  bravest  when  our  spirits  are  most  afraid. 

Poor  Miss  Hitchcock  was  laid  down  on  her  bed, 
and  left  there,  Miranda  and  Mr.  Gregory  ( we  will 
call  him  so,  as  we  know  him  by  no  other  name) 
stood  beside  her— no  one  else  ventured  into  the 
room— but  a  few  flurried,  whispering  people  were 
huddled  together  outside  the  door. 

The  room  was  a  beautiful  one— light  blue  tapes- 
try adorned  the  bed  and  the  windows  ;  the  carpet, 
covered  with  roses,  felt  like  moss  under  your  feet ; 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK  I  ISS 

lace  and  gilding,  gilding  and  lace,  met  the  eye  every- 
where ;  and  there,  among  it  all,  lay  the  brown,  ugly, 
disagreeable-looking  woman  —  her  eyes  shut,  her 
mouth  open,  her  face  swelled,  her  fists  clenched — 
dead,  perhaps,  or  perhaps  just  going  to  die. 

"  And  this  is  the  end  of  all/'  said  Mr.  Gregory. 
What  he  meant  Miranda  did  not  divine,  any  more 
than  she  understood  the  remorse  in  his  voice. 

She  was  thinking  of  being  of  use — shrinking  from 
the  sight  of  possible  death,  for  the  first  time,  or  of 
the  still  greater  horrors  of  a  possible  half  recovery 
— anxious  to  bring  an  appearance  of  life  back  into 
that  miserable  face,  though  terrified  at  the  idea  of 
what  she  might  see  if  she  succeeded.  Under  the 
most  favorable  circumstances,  there  is  something 
ghastly  in  the  struggles  of  the  freed  spirit,  which  our 
own  efforts  are  forcing  back  into  the  passive  body, 
incapable  of  assisting  its  return. 

Miranda  found  and  used  salts  and  scents  and  wa- 
ter— everything  in  abundance  and  ready  to  her  hand 
— everything  except  life,  which  it  appeared  to  her 
was  not  to  be  found. 

At  last  she  turned  a  look  of  appeal — almost  of 
reproach— on  Mr.  Gregory,  who  stood  there  frown- 
in-  down  at  the  insensible  face. 


156          MSS-S  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  She  can't  be — dead?"  she  cried;  and  the  last 
word  came  out  with  a  sound  like  a  little  scream. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said.  "  I  think  not — I  hope  not — I 
trust  not — she  cant  be  dead." 

"  There  seems  no  injury — nothing  broken — there 
is  no — "  She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  look- 
ed expressively  at  the  fair  white  coverlet.  "  It  can 
only  be  her  head." 

In  her  ignorance  she  spoke  of  mischief  to  the 
head  as  of  a  less  evil  than  to  the  limbs. 

"  I  think  she  is  very  much  hurt,"  was  his  only 
reply. 

"  Does  she  live  with  nobody  ?  "  asked  Miranda,  in 
a  very  low  voice,  as  if  she  was  afraid  of  disturbing 
her. 

"  With  her  father,  who  is  out  of  town." 

"  Oh  !  her  poor  father  !  "  said  she,  the  ready  tears 
on  her  eyelashes.  "  Oh  !  what  will  he  do  !  " 

"  He  will  bear  it  very  well,"  replied  Mr.  Gregory 
bitterly.  "  Of  course  he  will  be  shocked  and  sorry  ; 
but  these  ties  are  not  always  what  you  think.  This 
father  and  daughter  were  not  congenial,  and  were 
neither  of  them,  I  suppose,  capable  of  very  strong 
affections." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied. Miranda,  her  mind  taking 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK!  !57 

a  sudden  leap  back  to  a  past  day  ;  "  she  cried  at  my 
singing." 

I  hardly  understand  why  this  remark  struck  him 
so  forcibly.  He  stared  at  her  with  blank  eyes ;  a 
wave  of  feeling  passed  over  his  face,  leaving  it  white, 
and  with  a  scared  look  in  it. 

"  Cried  at  your  singing  ?  "  he  said,  with  excite- 
ment. "  Oh  !  that  would  be  too  much — that  would 
be  too  much." 

I  don't  believe  he  himself  knew  what  he  meant  by 
this,  or  why  the  idea  should  affect  him  so  power- 
fully ;  but  at  the  moment,  it  seemed  to  him  to  be 
more  than  he  could  bear. 

At  last — what  an  at  last  it  was  to  them  both — 
would  Mr.  Gregory  have  believed,  ten  minutes  before* 
that  time  coutdpass  so  slowly  in  Miranda's  presence  ? 
— at  last,  then,  the  doctor  arrived.  He  made  his 
examination,  and  applied  his  remedies,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  There  is  still  hope,"  he  said.  "  I  can  do  nothing 
more  at  present ;  but  there  is  still  hope.  She  may 
lie  for  twenty-four  hours  in  this  way,  and  at  any 
moment  she  may  recover  her  senses.  She  must  be 
constantly  watched.  If  she  comes  to  herself,  I  must 
f  be  sent  for  immediately,  at  the  moment.  If  she 


l$S         MfSS  H1TCHCOCJSS  WEDDING  DRESS. 

seems  weak,  a  little  brandy  should  be  given  ;  if 
excited,  cloths  dipped  in  vinegar  and  water  should 
be  laid  on  her  head.  Those  are  all  the  directions 
for  the  present,  and  anyone  can  carry  them  out.  By- 
and-by,  if  she  recovers  her  consciousness,  the  services 
of  a  professional  nurse  may  be  required  ;  but  her 
own  maid  can  do  all  that  is  wanted  now.  In  fact,  I 
think  the  only  thing  wanted  is  for  some  one  to  sit  in 
her  room,  for  I  have  no  idea  she  will  rouse  from  this 
stupor  for  twelve  or  fourteen  hours  at  the  earliest." 
Miranda  turned  and  called  in  the  maid,  who, 
when  she  found  what  was  required  of  her,  flatly 
refused  to  do  it.  She  declared  she  had  never  been 
engaged  for  that  sort  of  work  ;  it  had  never  been  put 
into  any  of  her  characters  ;  she  had  been  warned 
years  ago  that  she  ought  never  to  be  frightened  ;  she 
never  could  be  bold  enough  to  sit  by  the  bedside 
with  that  on  it  ;  she  couldn't  touch  her — no,  not 
she,  never — '•neither  to  put  brandy  to  her  lips  nor 
water  on  her  head  ;  and  she  had  never  supposed 
anything  of  the  sort  would  ever  be  evened  to  her. 
And  so,  with  a  great  many  more  "  nevers,"  she  went 
off  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  evidently  thought,  that 
of  all  the  household  she  was  the  person  to  be  most 
pitied.  Dr.  Simpkin  had  before  this  taken  his  leave, 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK!  IS9 

promising  to  look  in  again  in  the  evening,  if  he  was 
not  summoned  before. 

"  Very  well,"  Miranda  said ;  "  then  I  will  sit  with 
her  for  the  present ;  the  poor  thing  must  not  be 
left  in  this  way.  Alas !  how  lonely  some  people 
are ! " 

"  Not  when  visited  by  an  angel,"  said  Mr.  Greg- 
ory, in  a  low  voice.  "  But  will  you  really  watch  by 
her  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  it  would  be 
actual  cruelty  to  do  anything  else." 

"  I  can't  pity  her,  so  guarded  ;  I  would  almost 
change  places  with  her  if  I  thought  I  should  open 
my  eyes  and  find  you  there.  Meantime,  I  must  go. 
We  shall  both  be  employed  on  the  same  work,  for  I 
must  follow  her  father  and  break  the  news  to  him. 
You  will  think  of  me — won't  you  ? — while  you  are 
watching  the  daughter  and  I  am  hurrying  after  the 
father.  I  like  to  believe  that  you  will  think  of  me." 

"Yes,  I  shall  think  of  you,"  replied  Miranda, 
softly,  and  seating  herself  by  the  bedside. 

He  lingered  as  long  as  he  decently  could,  but 
few  pretences  for  such  ,delay  offered  themselves, 
and  after  a  minute  or  two  he  was  obliged  to  take 
his  leave. 


T6o         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

And  so  Miranda  was  .left  behind — a  solitary 
watcher  by  the  senseless  body  of  a  woman  who 
might  be  dead  or  who  might  be  dying — a  stranger 
to  her,  of  whose  very  name  she  was  ignorant  a  few 
days  before. 

"And  all  this — everything  that  has  happened 
since — all  comes  of  my  trying  on  Miss  Hitchcock's 
wedding  dress,"  thought  she. 

Then  with  a  great  start,  as  the  accustomed 
words,  "  Miss  Hitchcock's  wedding  dress,"  passed 
through  her  mind,  she  remembered  that  this  was 
Miss  Hitchcock — this  dead  or  dying  creature  be- 
side whom  she  now  sat  was  the  very  Miss  Hitchcock 
whose  wedding  dress  she  had  tried  on. 

She  looked  round  the  room,  replete  with  every 
com'"ort  and  luxury  that  money  could  procure,  and 
thought  of  its  living  mistress  moving  about  in  it. 
A  large  Psyche  glass  stood  opposite  the  bed.  She 
imagined  Miss  Hitchcock  standing  before  this 
glass,  on  the  morning  of  her  wedding  day,  trying  on 
the  very  dress  that  she  had  made.  That  is  what 
was  to  have  been  ;  and,  instead  of  that,  was  the 
present  scene  all — that  she,  the  dressmaker,  was  to 
watch  by  the  death-bed  of  the  bride  ?  And  would 
the  shining  satin  and  delicate  lace  never  be  worn, 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCKl  xGi 

except  by  her  on  that  night,  which  now  seemed  so 
far  away,  when  she  went  dancing  through  the 
splendid  rooms  at  Lady  Gregory's  ball  ?  She  shud- 
dered and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  thought, 
with  a  sort  of  terror,  of  that  beautiful  dress  in  which 
she  had  been  so  happy.  Then,  naturally  enough, 
the  idea  of  Mr.  Cressingham  presented  itself  to  her 
mind — handsome  and  fashionable  and  charming  as 
Sissy  had  described  him — not  caring  for  the  woman 
he  was  marrying  for  her  money,  and  snubbed  by 
her  in  return.  Where  was  he  now  ?  What  would 
he  feel  when  he  heard  of  this  dreadful  accident — 
this  life  and  death  struggle  in  her  who  ought  to  be 
dearer  to  him  than  all  the  world  beside,  and  with 
whom  he  had  contemplated  spending  his  future  life  ? 
Would  he  be  sorry  ?  Would  he  feel  remorse  that 
he  had  not  cared  for  her,  and  not  caring  for  her, 
would  have  married  her  ?  Would  a  late  love  as 
well  as  a  late  repentance  spring  into  being  when  it 
was  too  late,  and  death  had  taken  for  its  o\vn,  her 
whom  he  should  have  loved  in  life  ? 

Hours  passed  away  while  lost  in  endless  reveries. 
Miranda  held  her  weary  watch  in  Miss  Hitchcock's 
bedroom.  Evening  was  closing  round  her,  its 
shades  falling  early  in  a  London  room  at  the  back 


1 62          M/SS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

of  the  house,  looking  towards  a  narrow  street 
Patiently  had  the  girl  sat  through  all  this  time, 
performing  the  duty  of  the  good  Samaritan  by  a 
stranger — a  duty  which  she  supported  calmly  while 
daylight  lasted.  But  with  the  approach  of  night, 
who  announced  his  advent  by  the  voice  of  the  soft 
summer  twilight,  a  strange  restlessness  took  hold  of 
her.  Vainly  she  attempted  to  resist  it ;  it  was  too 
powerful — its  strength  was  stronger  than  hers  ;  and 
unable  any  longer  to  sit  still,  she  slowly  and 
reluctantly  rose  to  her  feet.  The  great  Psyche 
mirror  had  an  irresistible  attraction  for  her.  She 
knew  not  why,  but  she  felt  as  if  she  must  approach 
it  and  look  boldly  into  its  depths,  in  order  to  rid  her- 
self of  the  strange  meaningless  fears  that  were 
oppressing  her.  She  had  been  conjuring  up  a  figure 
in  bridal  costume  standing  before  that  mirror  to  see 
itself  reflected  in  the  bright  crystal,  till  the  idea 
haunted  her  that  a  ghostly  bride  must  be  there — 
there  in  the  glass — and  that  if  she  looked  at  the 
shining  surface,  she  should  see  this  ghostly  bride 
instead  of  herself.  She  felt  she  could  only  lose  the 
horrid  fancy  by  seeing  herself  really  reflected  in  the 
mirror,  and  then  a  sort  of  hurry  seized  her  to  do  so 
at  once.  "  It  will  soon  be  dark,  it  will  soon  be  dark," 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK!  163 

she  kept  saying  to  herself, "  and  I  shall  never,  never 
know ;  and  suppose  the  fancy  should  not  leave  me, 
and  I  should  all  my  life  be  haunted  by  the  knowl- 
edge of  that  ghostly  bride  shut  up  in  the  looking- 
glass  !  "  She  knew  how  foolish  she  was,  and  yet  she 
could  not  help  it.  She  did  not  really  believe  in  the 
notion,  and  yet,  acting  as  if  she  did,  in  another 
moment  she  had  glided  forward  and  placed  herself 
in  front  of  the  hanging  glass. 

She  saw  no  brown,  ugly  woman  in  bridal  finery 
there — no  satin  robe,  its  rich  folds  sweeping  the 
ground,  softened  by  the  light  draperies  of  exquisite 
lace — only  a  slight  young  figure,  in  simplest  dress, 
and  a  fair,  pale  face  crowned  by  a  wealth  of  chestnut 
hair.  There  seemed  to  Miranda,  however,  a  new  ex- 
pression in  that  face  which  she  had  never  seen  in  it 
before  ;  when  had  it  come,  and  what  was  it  ?  She 
could  not  tell,  but  somehow  it  looked  to  her 
less  childlike— more  thoughtful  than  its  wont ;  what 
was  it  ?  She  was  puzzled,  startled —  she  gazed 
earnestly  at  it,  and  the  expression  died  away  ;  had 
it  been  as  if  a  soul  was  just  passing  into  life  ?  She 
saw  the  bed  behind  her  in  the  glass,  and  suddenly 
a  head  rose  up  from  the  pillow,  a  ghastly,  brown 
face  appeared,  and  two  great  eyes  stared  helplessly 


HITCHCOCK' 'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

and  beseechingly  at  her.  In  terror,  the  wildest  and 
the  most  unreasonable  she  had  ever  experienced  in 
her  life,  she  turned  desperately  round  to  discover 
that  Miss  Hitchcock  was  alive. 

Another  moment  brought  her  to  the  bedside,  look- 
ing anxiously  into  her  face  to  determine  what  the 
treatment  was  that  ought  to  be  pursued  ;  but  first 
she  rang  the  bell  twice,  the  signal  that  it  had  been 
agreed  she  should  make  if  the  doctor  was  to  be  sent 
for. 

"  Am  I  ill  ? "  said  Miss  Hitchcock. 

"  I  think  you  are  better,"  replied  Miranda, 
gently. 

"  Where  is  Arthur  ?  " 

Miranda  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  answer- 
ed— 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  send  for  him  ?  I  dare  say 
he  would  come.  Where,  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  Better  not  ;  better  not ;  it  is  too  late — too  late. 
I  won't  do  what  he  asks  me  ;  and  I  will  be  rich, 
and  I  will  live  as  I  like.  Too  late — too  late — too 
late." 

Then  Miranda  got  frightened,  and  placed  a  hand- 
kerchief saturated  with  vinegar  and  water  on  her 
forehead.  She  muttered  incoherently  to  herself, 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK!  ^5 

and  suddenly  closing  her  eyes  again,  became  quite 
quiet. 

She  had  spoken  in  a  weird,  wild  way — quite 
unlike  Sophy's  wanderings  when  she  called  for 
George.  Oh  !  poor  Sophy.  How  intensely,  as  the 
thought  of  Sophy  flashed  across  her  mind,  did 
Miranda  feel  that  she  loved  her.  This  was  a 
delirium,  if  delirium  it  was  to  be  called,  in  which 
she  could  imagine  the  spirit,  that  had  broken  free 
from  the  restraints  of  the  body,  saying  wicked 
things.  The  manner  in  which  the  woman's  lips 
moved  to  utter  words  that  those  lips  had  lost  the 
power  to  restrain,  appeared  very  dreadful  to  Mi- 
randa. She  shrank  from  the  unconscious  creature 
who  had  declared  so  vehemently  that  she  would  be 
always  rich  and  do  as  she  liked,  while  the  constantly 
repeated  "too  late  "  sounded  in  her  ears  like  the  wail 
of  a  lost  soul. 

She  breathed  more  freely  when  silence  reigned 
again  in  the  room,  and  she  sent  up  an  earnest 
prayer  to  God  for  the  poor  pitiable  girl  in  the  bed ; 
for  suddenly  the  idea  of  Miss  Hitchcock's  youth 
appealed  to  Miranda's  heart  with  all  the  force  of  a 
new  and  most 'pathetic  discovery. 

So   plain,   so  dark,   and  so  independent,   it  had 


Z66         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

never  occurred  to  her  before  that  she  was  young ; 
but  now  she  recognized  the  fact  for  the  first  time, 
and  a  flood  of  pity  and  sorrow  came  over  her  as 
she  did  so. 

"  Poor  thing !  poor  thing !  poor,  poor  thing  !  "  she 
kept  saying  to  herself ;  and  the  kind,  gentle 
thoughts,  the  tender  hopes,  the  earnest  wishes— 
every  one  of  which,  if  not  a  prayer  in  form,  was  a 
prayer  in  fact — that  rose  from  Miranda's  heart  and 
floated  over  the  bed,  must  surely,  in  their  innocent 
strength,  have  wrought  some  good,  either  here  or 
hereafter,  for  the  far  different  spirit  in  whose  behalf 
they  were  framed. 

Just  then  came  a  little  tap  at  the  door,  and 
Miranda,  flying  to  open  it,  found  a  small  page, 
all  silver  lace  and  buttons,  standing  outside. 

"  Is  it  the  doctor  ?  "  cried  she,  breathless. 

"  Yes-miss,"  answered  the  smart  boy  smartly  ; 
and  at  the  same  time  a  gentleman  came  up  stairs. 

She  advanced  a  step  to  meet  him,  and,  to  her 
extreme  astonishment,  found  herself  face  to  face, 
not  with  Dr.  Simpkin,  but  with  Mr.  Gaunt. 

"  Mr.  Gaunt !  "  cried  she,  all  amazement. 

"  To  be  sure,"  was  the  reply,  in  his  bluff,  hearty 
tones ;  "  why  not  ?  The  women  were  getting 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK  !  167 

bothered  at  your  staying  so  late  ;  Miss  Sophy  told 
me  where  you  were  hanging  out,  and  so  here  I  am." 

"  Oh !  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said  ;  "  you  can  tell 
Sophy  I  can't  help  staying  late.  The  lady  has  met 
with  an  accident.  She  has  no  one  to  sit  with  her, 
and  I  am  doing  so  just  for  the  present" 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  he  ;  "  turned  sick  nurse.  That's  a 
new  trade,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  so  surprised  Dr.  Simpkin  doesn't  come." 

"  Please,  miss,"  said  the  smart  boy,  "  Dr.  Simp- 
kin's  been  and  gone,  and  been  sent  for  to  one  of  the 
Princesses ;  and  I  thought  this  was  t'other  doctor, 
come  in  his  place,  when  he  said  he  wanted^?/." 

A  thundering  knock  at  the  hall  door,  and  the 
smart  boy  winked  at  himself,  as  one  who  would  say, 
"  Here  he  is  ;  that's  your  ticket !  "  and  disappeared 
down  the  stairs. 

"Much  harm  done  ?"  asked  Mr.  Gaunt.  "What 
sort  of  accident  ?  Any  bones  smashed  ? " 

"  The  injury  seems  almost  entirely  to  the  head," 
replied  Miranda. 

She  had  stationed  herself  in  such  a  position  by  the 
partially  open  door,  that  she  commanded  a  view  of 
the  bed,  and  so  would  be  instantly  aware  of  any 
movement  on  Miss  Hitchcock's  part. 


1 68         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Do  you  like  watching  and  nursing  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Gaunt,  looking  at  her  curiously.  Perhaps  his  artist- 
eye  had  become  conscious  of  new  capabilities  in  her 
Miranda  face. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  frankly,  "  I  don't  ;  it  frightens 
me  ;  but  I  like  being  of  use.  I  wonder  whether 
another  doctor  has  come  instead  of  that  one  ?  " 

But  instead  of  a  doctor,  a  girl,  in  fashionable 
promenade  costume,  came  running  up  stairs. 

"We've  only  just  heard,"  she  said;  "we're  so 
shocked.  Is  she  killed  ? — is  she  hurt  ?  What  is 
it  ? " 

After  one  puzzled  moment,  Miranda  recognized 
Miss  Maria  Leslie. 

"  She  is  not  killed,"  she  replied,  "  but  she  is  very 
much  hurt." 

.  "  What  an  awful  shame  ! "  said  Maria. 
Mr.  Gaunt  regarded  the  pretty,  fragile  creature 
with     admiration,    and     said,    half -aloud,    "Hullo, 
Ariel!" 

Miss  Leslie,  in  her  turn,  looked  at  him  with  open- 
eyed  interest. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  she  of  Miranda,  very  much 
as  if  she  was  being  shown  a  new  wild  beast. 
"  Mr.  Gaunt,"  said  Miranda,  "  Miss  Leslie." 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK:  169 

But  Maria's  attention  was  now  concentrated  on 
Miranda  herself. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  she,  "is  it  really  you  ? — 
my  soprano  !  How  awfully  jolly!  " 

"  I  suppose  I've  no  business  here,"  said  Mr.  Gaunt, 
gruffly.  "  Very  well ;  shall  I  take  your  message  to 
Miss  Sophy?  When  will  you  come  home  your- 
self ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  rather  perplexed  ;  "  I 
have  hardly  thought  of  anything.  I  must  stay  here 
while  I'm  wanted,  mustn't  I  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  half -savage  kind- 
liness, and  said — 

"  Good  girl ! " 

Miss  Leslie  edged  up  to  Miranda,  and  with  a  side 
glance  at  Mr.  Gaunt,  whispered — "  Does  it  bite  ? " 

"  Too  late !  — too  late  ! — too  late  !  "  wailed  the 
voice  from  the  bed  within. 

Miranda  turned,  like  a  traitor  who  has  been  de- 
tected in  having  left  his  post,  and  hastily  retreated 
through  the  door. 

"  How  awfully  horrid ! "  cried  Maria,  quite  pale. 
11  Oh  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Be  of  use,  like  her,"  growled  Mr.  Gaunt,  jerking 
his  thumb  in  the  direction  that  Miranda  had  taken. 


I7o         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  can't,"  said  Maria,  pitifully  ;  "  I  never 
was  of  any  use  in  my  life." 

"  Too  late  ! — too  late  !  "  said  the  voice. 

"  Oh  !  don't,  you  horrid  !  "  cried  Maria,  and  began 
to  cry. 

But  Mr.  Gaunt  strode  into  the  room,  put  Miranda 
on  one  side,  usurped  her  place  by  the  patient, 
covered  her  forehead  with  the  saturated  handker- 
chiefs, and  bustling  about  among  the  bottles  on  the 
table,  found  something  that  he  poured  down  her 
throat. 

Then  he  said  to  Miranda,  in  a  low  voice,  "  This  is 
no  place  for  you,  and  I  sha'n't  leave  you  here ;  I 
shall  fetch  a  nurse  and  a  doctor,  and  then  I  shall 
take  you  home." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Miranda,  from  her  heart. 

Mr.  Gaunt  then  strode  out  again  to  Maria,  who 
was  crying  in  the  lobby. 

"  Haven't  you  got  a  thingamy  here  ?  "  asked  he. 
4"  A  what  ?  " 

"  A  thingamy  !  are  you  deaf  ?  A — a  coach  and 
four,  of  course,  I  mean — a  carriage  of  some  sort  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  driving,  certainly." 

"  Well,  may  I  take  it  a  minute,  and  bring  a  nurse 
and  doctor  ?  " 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK!  1 7 1 

"  Oh  no,  no  ;  I  daren't  stay  here.  I  should  die 
of  fright  ;  I  should  indeed  !  " 

"  Then  come  with  me  ;  you  don't  look  bad,  and 
you  wouldn't  like  your  fiddle-faddles  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  saving  a  life,  I'm  sure." 

She  gave  him  a  quick  glance. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  she  said ;  "  you  don't  look  bad 
either." 

And  so  this  strangely-matched  pair  drove  off  to- 
gether in  Miss  Leslie's  well-appointed  carriage. 

Miss  Hitchcock  remained  perfectly  quiet  during 
their  absence,  which  appeared  to  Miranda  intoler- 
ably long,  though  in  reality  the  time  Mr.  Gaunt  took 
to  perform  any  business  was  about  half  that  occupied 
by  the  generality  of  mortals  for  the  same  purpose. 

At  last  he  appeared,  bringing  with  him,  as  he 
had  promised,  a  doctor  and  a ,  nurse.  The  former 
could  do  no  more  than  repeat  the  opinion  and  the 
directions  given  by  Dr.  Simpkin ;  but  the  latter 
was,  most  welcome  to  Miranda,  her  presence  restor- 
ing to  her  a  liberty  which  had  been  so  strangely 
taken  from  her. 

"  It  seems  to  me  all  like  a  dream,"  she  said,  as  she 
walked  slowly  home  with  Mr.  Gaunt. 

"  A  bad  dream  ?  "  suggested  he. 


172         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Oh  no,  no  !  "  she  cried  quickly,  and  her  thoughts 
flew  back  to  her  conversation  with  Mr.  Gregory. 
"A  wonderful  dream,  a  strange  dream — things  lead- 
ing one  into  another,  as  they  only  do  in  dreams — 
but  not  a  bad  dream." 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  gone  to  sleep  in  one 
world  and  woke  up  in  another,"  said  he,  in  what 
sounded  like  a  tone  of  complaint. 

"  Do  I  ? "  she  replied,  softly.  "  I  did  live  in  a 
new  world  all  the  time  I  dreamt,  and  I  feel  as  if  I 
was  in  it  still — I  can't  realize  that  I  am  going  home 
to  Sophy  and  her  garret.  Oh,  my  dear  Sophy  !  " 

"  Yes;  that's  it"  growled  he  ;  "you  have  been 
in  a  grand  house  and  a  beautiful  bedroom — all 
filigree  and  fleur  de  lys,  hang  them — and  you  can't 
understand  going  home  to  a  garret.  That's  it!"'1 

"  Is  that  all  you  know  about  it  ? "  cried  she.  "  Do 
you  really  think  that's  it  ?  "  and  she  laughed  her  in- 
nocent, gay  girl-laugh,  which  sounded  for  the  first 
moment  almost  strange  in  her  own  ears. 

However,  something  either  in  the  laugh  or  in 
herself  contented  Mr.  Gaunt,  for  he  looked  at  her 
quite  kindly,  and  repeated  over  again  what  he  had 
said  before — 

"  Good  girl." 


POOR  MISS  HITCHCOCK!  173 

It  was  the  sweetest  happiness  to  Miranda  to  find 
Sophy  so  much  better.  A  tender  embrace  and 
heaps  of  kisses  made  up  for  the  long  absence,  and 
then  Miranda,  seated  by  her  sister's  side,  told  her 
the  whole  history  of  the  afternoon's  events — begin- 
ning with  Mr.  Gregory  and  ending  with  poor  Miss 
Hitchcock. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

EXPLANATIONS. 

UT,"  said  Sophy,  with  a  bewildered  face, 
"  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Sissy !  "  how  can  you  ask  ?  It  is  Mr. 
Gregory — Lady  Gregory's  nephew,  of  course.  Did 
I  really  only  call  him  he  ?  But  even  so,  who  else 
could  it  be  ?  " 

"  You  called  him  Mr.  Gregory  ;  it's  not  that,  but 
who  is  he  ?  where  did  you  meet  him  ?  how  are  you 
friends  ? " 

"  Oh,  Sissy,  Sissy !  yo\\cant  have  forgotten  him — 
it's  the  one  I  danced  with  at  Lady  Gregory's  ball." 

"  At  Lady  Gregory's  ball !  " 

"  Oh,  Sissy,  Sissy,  Sissy  !   what  can  you  mean  ? " 

"  Oh,  Miranda  !  what  can  you  mean,  I  think  it  is  ; 
I  have  not  the  least  notion  what,  you  are  talking 
about.  The  one  you  danced  with  at  Lady  Gregory's 
ball  ?  But  you  don't  know  any  Lady  Gregory,  and 
never  went  to  a  ball  in  your  life." 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  175 

"  Oh  !  how  can  you  say  so,  when  I  told  you  all 
about  it — the  ball  I  went  to  in  Miss  Hitchcock's 
wedding  dress." 

41  In  Miss  Hitchcock's  wedding  dress!  Please 
don't,  Miranda ;  I'm  not  strong,  and  you  tire  and 
worry  me — it  is  such  nonsense,  and  you  say  it  all 
with  such  a  grave  face  ;  please  don't." 

"  But  I  must,  Sissy.  I'm  very  sorry,  only  I  must ; 
it's  all  true,  every  word  of  it,  and  I  told  you  all  about 
it  when  you  were  ill.  Is  it  really  possible  you  have 
forgotten  it  all  ?  " 

"  You  never  told  me  a  word,"  replied  Sophy,  with 
energy. 

"  Oh  !  indeed,  indeed  I  did  !  Don't  say  so  ;  the 
very  first  day  you  were  well  enough,  I  told  you  the 
whole  story." 

"  Then  I  must  have  been  too  ill  to  take  it  in,  for  I 
have  not  the  most  vague  recollection  of  anything 
you  are  talking  about." 

"  Never  mind,  then  ;  I'll  tell  it  you  all  over  again." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Sophy,  apologetically. 

"  You  needn't  be  sorry,"  replied  Miranda,  her 
eyes  dancing  ;  "  there's  nothing  I  like  so  well  as 
telling  it — I'm  quite  charmed  that  I've  got  to  tell  it 
to  you  again.  Now  listen,  and  be  astonished." 


jy6         MfSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Sophy  did  listen  ;  and  Sophy  was  astonished. 
Miranda's  daring,  and  the  delightful  evening  that 
she  had  spent  in  consequence,  sounded  to  her  like  a 
fairy  tale.  She  made  her  repeat  over  and  over  again 
that  she  had  really  put  on  the  dress,  and  really  gone 
to  the  ball  in  it,  and  really  passed  as  one  of  the 
guests  and  not  been  found  out,  before  she  could 
either  believe  or  understand  what  she  heard  ;  then 
she  scolded  a  little,  and  lamented  a  little,  and  said 
it  was  very  wrong  and  very  foolish,  and  couldn't  end 
well,  and  must  lead  to  something  bad.  But  when 
Miranda  had  brought  her  story  down  to  its  present 
conclusion,  a  bright  hope,  a  wild  dream,  sprang  up 
in  Sophy's  soft  unworldly  heart.  She  looked  at 
Miranda,  and  felt,  rather  than  saw,  how  lovely,  how 
sweet,  how  good  she  was — a  girl  to  enchant  any 
man — a  creature  worthy  of  any  rank — that  might 
make  any  home  happy  ;  and  so  Sophy  sank  down 
among  her  pillows  and  closed  her  eyes,  and  gave 
herself  up  to  the  bewildering  prospect  that  seemed 
opening  before  her,  and  built  the  most  beautiful  of 
all  air  castles — that  which  is  to  contain  the  happi- 
ness of  another. 

With  her  true  woman's  heart,  she  did  not  give  the 
girl  one  hint  of  all  this.     She  would  not  have  dis- 


EXPLANA  TW.Y.S.  !  7  7 

turbed  her  unconscious  simplicity — no,  not  even  if, 
by  so  doing,  she  could  have  secured  her  the  lot 
which  she  almost  believed  was  within  her  reach  ;  nor 
with  her  own  early  dreams  safe  in  her  heart,  would 
Sophy  for  worlds  have  deprived  Miranda  of  the  joy 
of  being  first  wakened  to  love  by  the  lover  himself. 
No  sacrilegious  hand  should  shake  the  bloom  from 
the  blossom,  which  ought  to  be  gathered  in  all  its 
sweet  freshness,  if  it  is  gathered  at  all. 

She  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  dwell  too  much  on 
Mr.  Gregory  to  Miranda,  and  when  the  first  over- 
whelming feelings  were  past,  and  she  was  beginning 
to  accustom  herself  to  those  new  ideas  and  new 
hopes  which  had  so  suddenly  invaded  their  lives, 
she  encouraged  her  to  talk  more  of  her  watch  in 
Miss  Hitchcock's  room,  and  the  possibility  of  her 
having  to  sing  at  Miss  Leslie's  charade  party, 
than  of  her  conversations  with  Lady  Gregory's 
nephew. 

Then,  after  a  time,  when  all  these  more  inter- 
esting and  exciting  subjects  had  been  discussed, 
Miranda  began  to  remember  Mr.  Gaunt  and  his 
picture,  and  how  he  had  attended  Sophy,  and 
fetched  her  from  Miss  Hitchcock's,  and  how  kind 
and  good-natured  he  had  been. 


I78          MSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  What  a  true  friend !  "  said  Sophy,  when  she 
had  heard  this  almost-forgotten  part  of  the  story. 

But  Miranda  had  a  different  idea  of  true  friend- 
ship just  at  that  moment,  and  laughed  a  little  laugh 
of  happy  scorn. 

"  Well,  he  is  very  good-natured,"  said  she  ;  "  but 
you  can't  think,  Sissy,  how  pretty  he's  made  me  in 
the  picture.  Oh  !  it  is  nice  to  be  pretty,  Sissy  ; 
isn't  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  it  is !  "  replied  Sophy,  with  a  smile 
for  the  pretty,  innocent  face  that  asked  the  question 
quite  as  appealingly  as  the  words  did,  and  a  sigh  for 
the  days  when  she  too  felt  the  sweet  joy  of  beauty. 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  could  have  been  very  naughty 
of  me,  after  all,  to  wear  Miss  Hitchcock's  wedding 
dress,"  said  Miranda,  "because  I  was  so  heavenly 
happy,  and  one  cant  be  really  happy  when  one  is 
doing  wrong." 

"  Oh  yes,  one  can,"  said  Sophy  ;  "  wrong  pleasures 
make  us  happy  for  the  time,  and  tJicrcs  the  great 
danger  ;  papa  said  so." 

"  It's  not  true,"  interrupted  Miranda,  before  the 
last  three  words  were  out  of  Sophy's  lips,  and  then 
stopped  in  horror  at  herself.  "  Oh !  of  course,  I 
don't  mean  that  ;  if  papa  says  so  it  must  be  true, 


EX  PLAN  A  TIONS.  1 7  9 

only  I  don't  think  it's  so  with  me.  I  dare  say  it's 
my  fault  that  it  isn't,  or  that  I'm  not  sensible 
enough,  or  something  ;  but  I  do  think  I'm  never 
really  happy  when  I'm  doing  wrong.  I  do  indeed, 
Sophy.'' 

"  Well,  you  are  an  innocent  sort  of  a  child,! 
Miranda,"  said  Sophy,  smiling  fondly  at  her ;  "  so 
perhaps  you  are  not." 

For  which  speech,  gay,  loving  Miranda  kissed  her, 
Sissy  half-a-dozen  times. 

"And  now,"  said  poor  Sophy,  "you  must  give  me 
some  work  and  take  some  yourself,  for  I  am  afraid^ 
with  all  these  balls  and  friendships  and  illnesses, 
we  shall  find  the  purse  has  been  getting  empty.  " 

So  the  two  sisters  were  very  industrious  that  day 
and  the  next.  Sophy  was  not  strong  enough  to 
leave  her  bed  or  to  work  hard,  but  she  sewed  on 
lace  and  trimmings,  and  did  the  easy  parts,  and, 
Miranda  sang  to  her  all  the  time.  I  do  believe 
though  they  were  so  poor,  and  one  of  them  was  ill, 
and  they  had  to  labor  thus  even  for  their  daily  food, 
that  at  this  time  both  were  happy. 

In  the  afternoon  Miranda  asked  rather  timidly 
whether  Sophy  did  not  think  she  ought  to  go  and 
inquire  how  poor  Miss  Hitchcock  was. 


!8o         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  I  wish  it  very  much,"  she  said,  wistfully  ;  "but 
I  also  really  think  I  ought." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  replied  Sophy. 

Then  Miranda,  in  her  delight  at  that,  performed 
a  little  impromptu  waltz  round  the  room. 

"  That  was  how  we  did  it,  Sophy,"  she  cried  ;  "  it 
was  thus  we  went — whirl,  whirl,  whirl — Mr.  Gregory 
and  I.  Oh  !  the  delight  of  dancing  ;  Oh,  how  sweet, 
how  sweet  it  is  !  " 

"  Look  in  that  press,  pet,"  said  Sophy,  "  and  you 
will  find  the  Indian  shawl  and  some  real  old  lace  ; 
with  my  black  silk  skirt  and  your  nice  little  bonnet 
you  will  look  quite  well  dressed.  Oh  !  Miranda, 
perhaps  some  day — "  But  here  the  prudent  Sophy 
broke  off  ;  she  bit  her  lip,  and  with  pain  and  difficul- 
ty kept  down  the  words  ;  but  the  vision  of  sweet 
Miranda,  splendidly  dressed,  stepping  into  her  own 
pretty  carriage,  suddenly  sprang  up  before  her  eyes 
and  filled  them  with  tears.  Poor  eyes,  well  used  to 
weeping,  how  strange  the  tears  of  happiness  seemed 
to  them  ! 

Seldom  had  any  commands  of  Sophy's  been  more 
agreeable  to  Miranda  than  these,  and  with  innocent 
joy  she  took  out  the  old  carefully-kept  finery,  and 
attired  herself  in  it ;  then  she  went  sweeping  and 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  !  8 1 

careering  about  the  room,  twisting  herself  in  all 
manner  of  ways,  and  assuming  all  the  airs  of  a 
fashionable  lady. 

"Shall  I  do?"  cried  she;  "am  I  nice?  am  I 
pretty  ?  do  I  look  like  one  of  them  ? "  Here  she 
performed  a  magnificent  curtsey.  "  Oh !  there  is 
such  a  love  of  a  glass  in  Miss  "Hitchcock's  bedroom, 
reaching  down  to  the  ground,  and  up  and  up,  ever 
so  much  taller  than  I  am  ;  if  I  had  it,  Sissy,  I 
should  be  dancing  before  it  all  day  ;  I  should  in- 
deed. And  isrit  it  a  pity  she's  so  plain,  poor 
thing  !  she  can't  take  any  pleasure  in  it,  can  she  ? " 
"  Perhaps  you  may  have  one  some  day,  Miranda." 
"I?  Oh,  Sissy!"  and  she  laughed  quite  out  at 
the  idea  of  such  an  impossibility  ;  "  as  if  I  should 
ever  save  up  money,  or  go  without  dinners,  for 
that !  I  don't  really  care  about  it  in  that  sort  of  a 
way,  you  know — of  course  I  don't  ;  but  there's 
nothing  seems  to  me  harder  than  some  people 
being  so  very,  very  plain,  and  others  so  very,  very 
pretty."  Then  she  blushed  a  little,  as  if  afraid  she 
had  said  a  vain  thing,  and  added  hastily,  "  There's 
Maria,  now  " — she  always  thought  of  Miss  Leslie 
as  Maria,  and  jestingly  called  her  so — "  she  would 
like  to  dance  all  day  before  that  glass  ;  and  poor 


HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Miss  Hitchcock,  why,  if  she  only  danced  there 
just  one  little  minute,  it  would  be  enough  to  make 
her  cry  with  vexation  at  seeing  what  she  was 
like." 

And  the  idea  of  Miss  Hitchcock  dancing  at  all 
in  front  of  the  mirror  was  so  grotesque  and  incon- 
gruous that  she  was  obliged  to  stop  to  laugh, 
Then  she  suddenly  became  grave. 

"  That  comes,"  she  said,  "  of  thinking  too  much 
of  appearance,  just  as  papa  used  to  say  ;  I  find  it 
makes  me  frivolous,  but  I  don't  much  mind  that ; 
but  when  it  makes  me  laugh  at  a  poor  thing  for 
being  ugly,  oh,  that  must  be  very  wrong  indeed. 
What  a  pity  it  is,  Sissy,  that  when  we  don't  mean 
harm,  we  can't  keep  all  our  thoughts  and  feelings 
quite  right,  and  quite  quite  kind." 

Miranda  became  so  sorrowful  here,  that  Sophy 
had  to  comfort  her. 

"  I  really  am  as  vexed  as  possible  that  poor  Miss 
Hitchcock  is  not  pretty,"  Miranda  admitted,  in  her 
own  defence ;  "  and  I  only  laughed  because  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  began  by  really  pitying  her 
because  she  couldn't  dance  before  that  glass  and 
feel  glad,  and  then  the  idea  of  her  doing  it  made 
me  laugh  ;  but  it  shows  how  careful  we  ought  to  be 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  1 8  3 

about  our  fellow-creatures  ;  and  I  will  be  careful, 
Sissy,  indeed  I  will." 

And  so  our  Miranda  kissed  Sophy,  and  went  on 
her  way  consoled. 

As  she  tripped  down  stairs,  she  perceived  that 
the  front  drawing-room  door  was  ajar.  She  could 
not  resist  just  pushing  it  open  and  displaying  her- 
self for  one  brief  passing  second  to  the  astonished 
eyes  of  Mr.  Gaunt,  who  was  sitting  at  his  table,  op- 
posite to  it,  devouring  his  early  dinner  of  cold  boil- 
ed beef,  with  plenty  of  pickles  and  vinegar.  There 
she  stood  in  the  doorway  like  a  picture  in  a  frame, 
only  no  picture  could  ever  be  so  fresh,  so  radiant, 
or  so  gay. 

"  Am  I  nice  ? "  she  cried,  and  dropped  a  little 
curtsey.  Then,  shocked  at  her  own  forwardness, 
and  closing  the  door  with  a  great  bang,  she  ran 
laughing  down  into  the  hall,  and  so  danced  out  of 
the  house  door,  and  with  difficulty  restrained  her 
steps  into  a  proper  walk  when  she  found  herself  in 
the  street. 

At  Miss  Hitchcock's  she  seemed  to  be  expected, 
for  the  smart  boy  in  silver  lace  and  buttons  showed 
her  at  once  into  a  small,  but  pretty  sitting-room  on 
the  ground  floor,  saying  he  believed  Miss  Hitchcock 


HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

was  better  and  had  spoken  conscious,  but  he  would 
make  inquiries. 

A  pompous,  very  ill-natured  looking,  middle-aged 
man  shortly  afterwards  entered  the  room.  He  ad- 
dressed Miranda  with  great  politeness.  Regarding 
her  all  the  time  with  the  most  ill-natured  expression 
possible,  he  overwhelmed  her  with  thanks. 

"  I  really  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  enough 
for  your  kindness  to  my  poor  daughter  ;  it  was  real- 
ly too  much  ;  such  goodness  to  a  stranger  could 
never  have  been  expected.  I  really  don't  know  how 
to  thank  you  enough." 

And  all  the  time  he  spoke,  he  kept  looking  at  her 
as  if  he  could  have  killed  her. 

She  smiled  and  blushed,  and  said,  "  Oh !  I  did 
nothing.  I  am  glad  I  was  here.  But  how  is  she 
to-day  ?  is  she  better  ? " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  She  is  better  after  a  fashion.  She  is  quiet,  and 
the  doctor  says  she  is  going  on  well,  but  it  is  to  be  a 
most  tedious  business,  and  the  inconvenience  is 
much  to  be  deplored.  v  I  must  go  out  of  town.  I 
am  greatly  to  be  pitied." 

Miranda  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "  You  !  " 
she  said  ;  and  that  was  all  her  reply. 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  1 8  5 

"  Yes,"  replied  he,  not  one  whit  abashed.  "  You 
can  form  no  idea.  An  illness  of  this  kind  is  a  most 
melancholy  thing ;  you  have  no  notion  of  the 
difference  it  makes  in  a  house.  I  can't  stand  it — I 
can't  stand  it — no  one  could.  And  our  bedrooms, 
most  unfortunately,  happen  to  be  on  the  same  floor. 
I  always  did  have  a  feeling,  a  strong  feeling,  that 
she  might  just  as  well  have  gone  up  another  flight 
of  stairs  ;  but  then,  as  mistress  of  the  house —  How- 
ever, it  was  very  thoughtless,  when  they  brought 
her  in,  that  they  did  not  carry  her  up  at  once  to  her 
maid's  room,  instead  of  taking  her  into  her  own — 
very  thoughtless  indeed ;  but  some  people  have  no 
thought.  I  never  can  understand  people  being  so 
inconsiderate  to  others.  It  is  most  inconvenient. 
I  shall  have  to  go  out  of  town.  I  am  really  very 
much  to  be  pitied." 

And  now  he  looked  at  Miranda,  quite  as  if  he 
considered  that  she  was  to  blame,  not  only  for  this, 
but  for  all  the  other  bad  and  selfish  arrangements 
made  in  the  world,  and  as  if  he  would  have  gladly 
taken  vengeance  on  her  for  them  all,  there  and  thea 

She,  in  return,  felt  nothing  but  disgust  for  him. 

"  Does  she  suffer  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  She  ? — who  ? — suffer  ? — what !     Hannah  ? — my 


X86         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

daughter  ? — Miss  Hitchcock  ?  I  really  am  not  pre- 
pared to  answer.  I  suppose  people  must  suffer  who 
meet  with  accidents ;  they  cannot  escape.  At 
present  I  believe  she  is  generally  unconscious  ;  when 
consciousness  returns,  it  will  of  course  make  the 
case  very  much  more  trying,  and  it  would  be 
impossible  for  me  to  be  in  the  house.  Nothing 
can  be  more  inconvenient,  and  I  am  greatly  to  be 
pitied." 

"  I  think  poor  Miss  Hitchcock  is  fifty  times  more 
to  be  pitied  than  you  are,"  replied  indignant 
Miranda,  with  unusual  abruptness  for  her. 

"  What  !  Hannah  ? "  cried  her  father,  infinitely 
astonished. 

"  And  her  name  is  Hannah  too  !  "  thought  com- 
passionate Miranda.  "  Hannah  !  such  a  name  to 
be  added  to  all  the  rest.  She  is  unfortunate." 

But  she  said  nothing  more  ;  only  looked  at  him 
with  lovely  offended  eyes,  whilst  he  returned  the 
gaze  with  that  ill-natured  expression  of  his,  which 
may  have  really  meant  nothing,  and  for  which,  if 
so,  he  deserved  pity  more  than  his  daughter  did  for 
her  dangerous  illness,  or  even  for  the  great  misfor- 
tune of  having  been  christened  Hannah. 

"  I   only  called  to  inquire,"  said  Miranda  at  last, 


EXPLANATIONS.  187 

finding  the  interview  extremely  unpleasant.  "  I  am 
so  glad  she  is  going  on  well.  Good-morning.'' 

"  Oh  !  but  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  have  a  message 
for  you,  a  note  ;  no,  a  card."  Miranda  felt  her 
happy  heart  beating  fast,  and  the  rose-blushes  rising 
into  her  face,  as  she  thought  of  Mr.  Gregory.  "  I 
promised  to  deliver  it  myself.  I  placed  it  here,  In 
my  waistcoat  pocket,  that  it  might  be  near  the 
region  of  the  heart,  as  I  told  the  giver."  Here  he 
smiled  a  most  ill-natured  smile,  and,  taking  a  card 
from  the  pocket  referred  to,  presented  it  to  Miranda 
with  a  pompous,  flourishing  bow.  She  half  closed 
her  eyes  for  half  a  second,  as  one  anxious  to  pro- 
long the  pleasures  of  expectation,  and  then,  opening 
them,  they  rested  on  and  read  the  following  words. 
First,  printed  in  the  centre  of  the  card,  "  Miss 
Leslie  ;  "  and  secondly,  written  in  pencil  below  the 
name,  "  Do  come  to  me  the  minute  you  can ;  there's 
a  dear.  Always  tea  and  chat  at  4  P.M.  We  must 
settle  about  the  soprano.  Life's  short ;  heigho  !  " 

The  momentary  pang  of  sharp  disappointment 
was  succeeded  by  a  feeling  of  pleasure.  How  nice 
to  go  to  "  Maria,"  and  settle  about  the  soprano  ! 
What  an  agreeable  way  of  spending  an  hour  in 
itself  !  And  then — then — was  it  not  all  leading 


!88  J//.S-.S'  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIXG  DRESS. 

to  another  interview  with  Mr.  Gregory,  who  had 
promised  to  be  at  the  charade  party,  if  she  would 
undertake  the  soprano  ? 

"  I  sec,"  she  said  ;  "  I  must  not  lose  any  time. 
It  is  four  o'clock  now,  and  Miss  Leslie  is  expecting 
me." 

"Present  to  Miss  Leslie  the  expressions  of  my 
unchangeable  loyalty  and  devotion,  and  assure  her 
that  it  is  only  to  her  I  would  have  spared  so  charm- 
ing a  companion  as  yourself,"  replied  Mr.  Hitch- 
cock, with  another  pompous,  flourishing  bow,  and 
looking  more  than  ever  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to 
kill  her. 

"  Oh,  what  nonsense  !  *'  said  Miranda  ;  and  so 
saying,  she  danced  out  of  the  room  and  the  house. 
"  And  I've  no  doubt  he's  sharpening  his  knife, 
ready,"  said  she.  "Ugh!  the  monster.  And  mur- 
der itself  is  not  worse  than  such  nasty  selfishness  ; 
dear,  dear,  how  horrid  it  would  be  to  feel  like  that  /" 
And  so  she  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  square 
— no  contemptible  distance  either — and  rang  and 
knocked  at  Mrs.  Leslie's  door. 

It  was  opened  by  a  footman  in  livery,  while  a 
jauntily-dressed  lady's-maid  stood  behind  and  peep- 
ed over  his  shoulder. 


EXPLANATIONS.  Z8g 

"  Is  it  the  young  lady  for  Miss  Maria  ?  "  she  ask- 
ed over  the  shining  epaulette. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Miranda. 

"  Come  this  way,  please,  ma'am.  Miss  Leslie 
will  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

And  so  she  brought  Miranda  upstairs  into  a  little 
cosy  room  on  the  drawing-room  floor,  fitted  up  with 
every  luxury  as  a  young  lady's  boudoir,  but  with 
pictures  of  hunters  and  jockeys  hanging  on  the' 
walls  and  a  pair  of  diminutive  boxing-gloves  lying 
on  the  work  table. 

Maria  was  lounging  in  an  easy-chair,  looking  a 
little  pale  and  disconsolate. 

"  Oh !  "  said  she,  raising  herself  languidly  up,  "  is 
it  you  ?  I  am  glad  ;  but  I  am  so  sick  ;  "  then  she 
fixed  her  large  soft  eyes  plaintively  on  Miranda. 
"  Can  you  smoke  ?  " 

She  looked  so  small,  so  fragile,  and  so  feminine. 

"  Smoke  ! "  cried  Miranda.  "  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Smoke  what  ?  How  ?  Glass,  or  drawings,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Pipes,"  said  Maria,  laconically. 

"  Pipes !  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,  not  real  pipes — those  are  only 
for  man,  lucky  man — but  cigars,  ci — cigarettes  ;  can 
you  smoke  them  ? " 


I90  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

There  was  a  world  of  plaintive  anxiety  in  her  voice 
and  face. 

"/smoke  them?"  replied  the  amazed  Miranda. 
I?  Of  course  not — I  never  tried." 

Maria  sank  back  among  her  pillows,  turning  a 
little  paler  still. 

"  Well,  I  have,"  said  she,  "  and  I  can't,  they  always 
make  me  sick  ;  it  is  so  hard,  isn't  it  ?  and  when  I 
really  do  try  my  very  best." 

"  But  why  do  you  try  ? "  asked  Miranda,  inno- 
cently. "  Have  you  asthma  ?  " 

"  Asthma  !  "  cried  Maria.  "  No,  thank  you  ;  I'm 
not  an  old  fogy,  am  I  ?  Do  I  look  like  asthma  ? 
I  try  it  because  it's  good  form,  and  because  I  can't 
bear  that  men  should  have  all  the  pleasures — it  is 
so  unfair." 

"  But  they  haven't,  have  they  ?  I'm  sure  I  don't 
think  they  have.  I'm  sure  we  have  heaps  of  pleas- 
ures." 

"  I  wonder  what  they  are,"  sighed  Maria.  "  Here 
am  I  as  sick  as  anything — oh !  so  sick— because  I 
smoked  a  tiny  little  cigarette  for  three  minutes  ;  and 
there's  Ned,  my  brother,  you  know,  smokes  fifteen 
real  cigars  in  the  day  and  enjoys  it,  and  I  think  them 
horrid,  and  I  can't  bear  the  smell.  Oh,  how  hard  it  is  ! " 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  !  g  i 

"  Hard  that  you  can't  do  what  }  ou  don't  like  ? 
That  is  a  new  sort  of  hardship,  surely." 

"  No,  hard  that  I  can't  like  what  I  want  to  do," 
replied  Maria,  rather  sharply.  "  I  thought  you'd 
sympathize  with  me,  and  perhaps  teach  me  how." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Miranda,  laughing,  and  won- 
dering to  herself  what  Mr.  Gregory  would  think  of 
a  woman  smoking.  "  If  I  had  found  you  with  the 
tiniest  cigar  in  your  mouth  conceivable,  I'd  have 
twiched  it  out  of  your  mouth  directly." 

"  Woul.1  you  really,  now  ?  Oh,  I'm  afraid  you're 
not  at  all  sound  in  your  ideas,  and  you  so  larky  ; 
I  thought  you'd  be  up  to  anything." 

Miranda  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"It's  awfully  hard  lines  on  girls,"  said  Maria. 

"  I  don't  think  so  one  bit,"  cried  Miranda,  ener- 
getically. "  I  think  a  girl's  life  is  delicious." 

"  I  don't  see  it,"  replied  Maria.  "  I  wish  I  did. 
And  then  girls  have  to  marry,  you  know." 

Miranda  blushed. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  very  softly,  "  sometimes." 

"  Sometimes  ! "  almost  screamed  Maria,  sitting 
upright  in  her  chair,  and  the  color  coming  back 
into  her  face  from  surprise.  "Why,  it's  the  one 
thing  they  always  have  to  do." 


I92          Jlf/SS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Miranda,  "  not  always  ;  not 
unless — " 

"  Unless  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  you  know  what  I  mean — a  girl 
must  care  for  somebody  very  much — oh  !  very  much 
indeed — before  she  consents  to  leave  all  she  loves 
for  his  sake." 

Miranda  blushed  while  she  spoke,  and  looked 
like  the  sweetest  picture  of  maiden  modesty  con- 
ceivable. I  think  if  Mr.  Gaunt  had  seen  her,  he  would 
have  taken  her  portrait  on  the  spot,  and  called  it 
Dawn  ;  for  to  an  experienced  eye  there  surely  was  the 
dawn  of  love  to  be  seen  in  her  fair,  innocent  face. 

"  Is  that  all  you  know  about  it  ? "  answered 
Maria,  disdainfully.  "  Well,  I  wonder  where  you 
were  reared." 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Miranda,  "my  ideas  are  more 
usual  than  yours." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  marry  that  Hitchcock, 
then  ?  "  asked  Maria. 

"  Marry  who  ? " 

"  That  Hitchcock." 

"  What  Hitchcock  ? " 

"  The  man  who  gave  you  my  card — who  sent  you 
here." 


EX  PL  AN  A  TIONS.  1 93 

"What,  old  Mr.  Hitchcock!"  cried  Miranda, 
displaying  all  her  pearly  teeth  in  a  burst  of  laughter 
— "  Miss  Hitchcock's  father  ?" 

"Yes,  old  Mr.  Hitchcock — Miss  Hitchcock's 
father — how  would  you  like  to  marry  him,  I  say  ?  " 

"  Why,  not  at  all,  of  course,"  laughed  Miranda. 
"What  girl  would?" 

"  Here's  the  girl  who's  got  to  do  it,  then,"  replied 
Maria,  in  a  half  comic  manner,  tapping  her  chest  as 
she  spoke. 

' '  Oh,  nonsense  !  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say,  I  will  do  it ;  but,  Yvz  got  to  do  it ; 
they  all  want  me  to  do  it,  and  they're  always  going 
on  at  me  about  it." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  and  is  the  poor,  foolish  old  man  really 
in  love  with  you  ?  What  a  pity  !" 

"  He's  not  offered  yet  ;  but  they're  always  telling 
me  it's  in  my  own  hands,  and  that  I  may  thank  my- 
self if  he  doesn't." 

"Oh  !  do  take  care  and  keep  him  back,  then.  It 
must  be  so  sad  to  have  to  refuse  a  man,  and  an  old 
man,  too." 

"  I've  refused  heaps  of  men,"  replied  Maria, 

"  Have  you  really  ?  "  said  Miranda,  looking  at  her 
with  mingled  pity  and  respect. 

13 


HITCHCOCK'S  IV ED  DING  DRESS. 

"  Yes,  I  like  it ;  don't  you  ? — it's  something  to  do, 
and  it's  a  sort  of  revenge  upon  them  for  being  men, 
while  we're  only  women.  I  do  so  hate  being  a 
woman." 

"  But  they  can't  help  it,"  replied  Miranda,  gravely. 

"  I  say,"  said  Maria,  suddenly, "  that  beast  of  yours 
didn't  bite." 

"  Beast  of  mine  !  "  repeated  Miranda,  looking  about 
her  in  astonishment.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  haven't 
got  a  beast." 

"  Doesn't  it  belong  to  you — that  wild  man  of  the 
woods  I  carried  off  in  my  carriage  with  me  ?  I 
thought  it  did.  He  ordered  me  about,  and  took  me 
to  a  hospital  here  and  a  house  there ;  and  he  filled 
up  my  thingamy,  as  he  called  it,  with  nurses  and 
doctors,  without  'with  your  leave,'  or  'by  your 
leave  ; "  but  he  didn't  bite.  I  think  he's  a  very 
nice  beast." 

"  He  is  very  good-natured." 

"  Has  he  got  any  name  ?  What  do  they  call 
him  ?  Has  Frank  Buckland  seen  him  ?  Does  he 
hang  out  at  the  Zoo  ? " 

"  His  name  is  Gaunt." 

"  And  what  is  he,  if  he's  not  a  beast  ?" 

"  He's  an  artist." 


EXPLANATIONS.  !9S 

"  An  artist,  and  his  name  Gaunt !  Oh  you're 
laughing  at  me  now  ;  you're  not  going  to  tell  me 
that  that's  Gaunt  the  painter." 

"  I  really  don't  know  ;  his  name's  Gaunt,  and  he 
paints  pictures." 

"  Was  he  bred  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  that  he  certainly  was,  for  he  told  me 
so  ;  and  he  cured  Sophy,  and  did  poor  Miss  Hitch- 
cock a  great  deal  of  good  too." 

"  Well,  I  am  astonished — I  never  was  more  aston- 
ished in  my  life.  So  that  was  Gaunt  the  painter  ; 
and  I  had  a  tete-a-tete  drive  with  him.  What  an 
honor !  I'd  no  more  idea  of  it — don't  you  know — 
I'm  wild  about  art.  How  glad  I  am  I  said  he  was 
a  nice  beast ! " 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    CHARADE. 

AT  this  moment  tea  was  brought  in,  and  Miss 
Leslie,  forgetting  all  about  her  sickness  and 
her  cigarette,  sprang  from  her  chair  to  exercise  the 
hospitalities  of  a  little  tea-table,  which  she  did  grace- 
fully enough.  Miranda,  having  dined  but  scantily, 
was  charmed  at  the  unwonted  luxury  of  this  after- 
noon meal,  and  ate  cake  and  brown  bread  and  butter 
till  Maria  laughed. 

"  Go  on,  do  go  on  ;  take  another  slice.  It's  de- 
lightful to  see  a  girl  eat  like  that — near  the  end  of 
the  season,  too.  I  never  can  eat  as  I  wish  ;  I've 
often  made  myself  ill  trying  ;  it's  too  aggravating  to 
see  men  eat  slice  after  slice,  dish  after  dish.  Why 
should  they  be  able  to  take  in  so  much  more  than 
we  do  ?  How  I  have  tried  to  eat  like  a  man  !  " 

Miranda  laughed. 

"  Certainly,"  said  she,  "  the  pleasures  you  envy 


THE  CHARADE.  !97 

are  what  I  should  have  never  given  a  thought  to — 
smoking  and  eating! " 

"  And  drinking !  "  cried  Maria,  with  great  energy. 
"  Oh,  my  dear,  to  see  men  drink,  and  quite  steady 
on  their  legs  afterwards  !  Now  two  glasses  of  wine 
and  a  tumbler  of  beer  are  as  much  as  I  can  stand  ; 
and  I'd  rather  not  take  them,  at  the  same  time.  It's 
shameful  injustice — horribly  shameful.  And  then 
.there's  not  a  bit  of  harm  in  a  man  swearing  a  little — 
just  a  little,  you  know — not  ugly  oaths,  but  spirited  ; 
and  then  they  stand  with  their  backs  to  the  fire  in 
the  most  delightful  manner,  and  they  may  sit  just  in 
any  attitude  they  like." 

Miranda  laughed  heartily  at  this  catalogue  of 
grievances. 

"  Not  one  of  which  mighty  privileges  do  I  envy 
them  of  a  bit;  "said  she  ;  "  and,  all  together,  they  can't 
outweigh  a  girl's  pleasure  in  being — nice,  and  finding 
herself— liked." 

She  hesitated  over  the  two  words — nice  and  liked 
— which  she  finally  selected,  and  blushed  brightly 
before  she  had  finished  her  speech. 

"  Yes,  but  that's  only  because  we  can  torment  man 
by  it,"  replied  Maria,  "  so  it's  not  a  selfish  pleasure. 
Now  all  a  man's  pleasures  are  entirely  selfish  ;  they 


I98          MISS  HITCHCOCK'1  S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

concern  no  other  people  at  all,  but  just  him  ;  and  it's 
selfish  pleasures  that  are  so  much  the  best,"  added 
she,  discontentedly. 

"  I'm  quite  sure  that's  not  true,"  said  Miranda, 
nodding  her  head  emphatically. 

"  But  all  this  time,"  cried  her  hostess,  with  sudden 
recollections — "  all  this  time  we  have  forgotten  the 
soprano." 

"  And  I  can't  stay  muck  longer  ;  but  I'm  ready 
now  to  do  anything  you  like." 

"  The  charade  is  Ireland,  because,  you  see,  it's  so 
difficult  to  hit  on  anything  new,  and  we  don't  think 
Ireland  has  been  acted  before." 

"  And  how  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  First  of  all,  you  know,  somebody  has  to  be  an- 
gry— that's  Ire ;  so  we  have  that  old  fellow — who 
was  he  ?  an  old  fellow  who  knew  something  and 
couldn't  bear  noise.  It  wasn't  Sir  Isaac  Newton  or 
Mr.  Hudson,  was  it  ?  No,  no,  it's  somebody  who  was 
alive  the  other  day  ;  he  made  a  cabinet  pianoforte 
calculate.  I  couldn't  bear  the  idea  of  a  piano  doing 
sums  while  I  was  playing,  so  I  sold  mine  and  bought 
a  grand  in  stead." 

"  A  very  good  exchange,  I  should  say." 

"  Well,  but  what  was  the  name  of  the  man  ?     I 


THE  CHARADE.  jgg 

used  to  remember  it  by  calling  him  a  cabbage,  to  be 
sure  !  Babbage  was  the  name — all  right.  Well,  he's 
to  be  at  his  table  studying,  when,  all  of  a  sudden, 
all  the  London  cries  and  disturbances  begin  outside, 
one  after  another,  and  he  goes  on  getting  more  and 
more  and  more  in  a  rage  all  the  time,  and  that's  Ire, 
you  know,  and  you're  to  be  one  of  the  sounds,  for 
you're  to  sing  a  ballad  to  a  creaky,  creaky  organ. 
How  will  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  will  be  great  fun." 

"  All  right ;  so  do  I,  only  I  call  it  awfully  jolly, 
why  don't  you  ? — great  fun's  tame.  However,  what's 
his  name  ?  oh,  Cabbage,  Babbage — yes,  Babbage — 
is  in  such  a  precious  state,  he  forswears  earth,  and 
says  the  only  place  worth  living  in  is  a  ship  on  the 
sea  ;  so  he  goes  to  sea  to  be  quiet,  and  soon  finds 
out  his  mistake,  and  after  a  bit  he's  wrecked — 
there's  no  end  of  a  storm,  and  he's  no  end  of  a  cow- 
ard ;  so  he's  awfully  glad  when  he  finds  himself  on 
shore  again,  and  he  throws  himself  down  flat  on  his 
face  and  kisses  the  ground.  That's  Land,  you 
know." 

"  But  the  sea  part  must  be  difficult  to  act." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it — it's  all  managed  with  millions  of 
yards  of  green  baize,  up  and  down  on  rollers  for  the 


200          MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

sea,  and  the  wagonette  on  them  for  the  ship ;  only 
we  think  the  coachman  will  turn  rusty  and  not  let 
us  have  the  wagonette,  so  Ned's  to  make  him 
drink  first,  ,and  then  it's  sure  to  be  all  square." 
"  And  how  do  you  do  Ireland  ?  " 
"  Oh,  that's  easy  enough — we  just  have  two  pro- 
cessions that  come  tearing  by  the  minute  the  poor 
old  thing's  safe  on  shore — an  orange  procession  and 
a  green  procession,  with  flags,  and  tunes,  and  every- 
thing ;  and  they  set  to  work  fighting,  and  kill  each 
other  right  off  ;  and  when  there's  nothing  but  heaps 
of  dead  men  all  round  him — orange  heaps  and  green 
heaps — two  processions,  and  both  of  them  dead — 
poor  Babbage  finds  out  that  London  is  the  best  place 
after  all." 

"  So  that  your  charade  has  a  moral  to  it." 
"  A   moral,   has   it  ?     Oh,    I   hope   not ;    I   hate 
morals.      However,  I  don't  think  it's  a  particularly 
good  moral  ;  is  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know^that  it  is,  particularly." 
"  Oh,  then,  I»don't  mind.  I  did  think  of  bringing 
in,  just  at  the  end,  the  two  Kilkenny  cats  who  fought 
till  there  was  nothing  left  of  either  but  the  fluff  at 
the  end  of-  their  tails,  because  they  really  were  Irish, 
and  it  would  have  given  an  air  of  reality  to  the 


THE   CHARADE.  2OI 

scene  ;  but  mamma  said  she  would  not  be  among 
the  audience  if  we  had  fighting  cats.  Besides,  I 
don't  quite  see  how  we  could  have  managed  it." 

"  Nor  I  either,  I'm  sure." 

"  And  now,  will  you  practice  your  song  ?  or,  at 
any  rate,  try  it  through  ?  I've  got  the  most 
delicious  hand-organ,  as  creaky  as  possible,  all  out 
of  tune,  and  doing  every  single  thing  under  the  sun 
that  it  shouldn't  do — bless  it — and  you're  to  sing  to 
it  perfectly  in  tune.  Now  then." " 

While  she  spoke  she  produced  the  organ  from 
under  the  sofa,  and  tossed  a  song  to  Miranda  ;  and 
the  two  girls  proceeded  to  their  work  as  well  as  they 
could  for  laughing — Maria  grinding  the  organ  with 
a  will,  and  Miranda  singing,  her  eyes  radiant  with 
joy,  as  they  always  were  when  she  sang. 

"SINGING  ALONG. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  this  life  of  mine, 

Singing  along  through  the  lanes  and  streets ! 
Singing  and  sunshine  are  very  fine, 
And  a  smile  on  every  face  one  meets. 

"Youth  is  so  sweet,  and  the  world  so  fair, 

Singing  along  through  the  lovely  land ; 
I'd  rather  dance  'mid  the  daisies  there 
Than  in  a  palace  so  great  and  grand. 


202          MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  I  am  the  monarch  of  all  I  see, 

Singing  along  wheresoe'er  I  please ; 
Bird  and  blossom,  river  and  tree, 
Are  all  so  dear  to  a  heart  at  ease. 

"  Youth  is  so  sweet,  and  a  life  so  blest, 

Singing  along  'neath  the  open  skies  ; 
Freely  I  wander  or  take  my  rest 

As  sunshine  wakens  or  moonlight  dies. 

"  Singing  along,  oh  !  singing  along — 

Singing  along  while  the  world  is  fair; 

Song  and  sunshine,  sunshine  and  song — 

Am  I  not  finding  them  everywhere  ?  " 

Just  as  Miranda  finished  singing  there  was  a 
little  tap  at  the  door — which  was  ajar,  and  was 
then  immediately  pushed  open — and  Lady  Greg- 
ory's nephew  walked  in. 

"What  you,  Arthur?"  cried  Maria,  jumping  up 
from  her  organ.  "  How  uncommonly  jolly  !  " 

Mr.  Gregory,  however,  had  only  eyes  for  Miranda, 
and  it  was  not  till  he  had  shaken  hands  with  her, 
and  looked  all  the  delight  this  meeting  gave  him, 
that  he  found  time  to  extend  two  fingers  to  Miss 
Leslie  with  a  languid  how-d'ye-do  ? 

"  What  could  bring  you  here  at  an  hour  when  you 
are  not  usually  out  of  bed  ?  "  pursued  Maria. 

"Nonsense,"     replied  he,  annoyed.     "I   was  at 


THE  CHARADE.  203 

Hitchcock's,  and  learned  I  should  find  you  here," 
addressing  Miranda  in  a  softened  voice,  "  and  so  I 
came." 

Miranda  could  not  understand  the  sort  of  em- 
barrassment she  felt  at  meeting  him  in  the  presence 
of  another  person. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  be  going,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  fortunate  in  hearing  your  song,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"  Oh,  you  have  been  eavesdropping,  have  you  ?  " 
asked  Maria. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  coolly.  "  I  have  been  stand- 
ing for  half-an-hour  outside  that  door  listening  to 
every  word  you  both  said." 

"  Hoping  to  hear  us  discuss  your  highness — whose 
name,  however,  we  did  not  even  mention,"  said 
Maria.  "  What  a  sell !  "  and  she  pointed  at  him  with 
her  dainty  little  finger,  and  laughed  provokingly. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied 'he,  gravely.  "  I  should  have 
been  very  sorry  if  you  had  said  a  word  about  me. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  Maria,  I  was  disgusted  with 
all  I  heard — with  the  coarseness  of  your  ideas,  and 
the  vulgar  language  in  which  you  expressed  them. 
You  are  really  a  lady  ;  what  is  the  use  of  pretend- 
ing you  are  not  ?" 


204         MfSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Maria  colored,  tossed  her  head,  and  said,  "  Fudge." 

"  Fudge  isn't  argument,"  said  he,  coldly. 

"  No  more's  scolding,"  was  her  reply — neither  of 
them  appearing  to  study  correctness  of  grammar  or 
elegance  of  language  in  their  several  speeches. 

"  You  are  a  nice  little  thing  naturally,"  said  he, 
"  but  you  are  on  the  high  road  to  become  a  very 
nasty  one.  I  wonder  what  pleasure  you  have  in  it 
— I  do  indeed." 

Whereupon  Maria  burst  out  crying,  and  saying 
she  wouldn't  stay  there  to  be  insulted,  not  if  he 
were  fifty  times  her  cousin,  rushed  out  of  the  room> 
slamming  the  door  after  her  with  a  great  bang. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  looked  in  the 
direction  she  had  taken.  "  It's  a  great  pity,"  he  said. 
"  She  really  is  a  good  girl  in  the  main,  and  she 
is  doing  her  best  to  become  odious ;  it  is  the  most 
hideous  of  all  the  hideous  fashions  of  the  day, 
worse  a  thousand  times  than  chignons  and  pearl 
powder." 

"  Is  she  your  cousin  ?  "  asked  Miranda,  timidly. 

"  Yes —  did  you  not  know  it  ? — and  half-a-dozen 
years  ago  the  dearest  little  doll,  blushing  at  every- 
thing, and  almost  too  soft  and  feminine ;  and  now 
you  see  what  she  is." 


THE  AJARADE.  205 

"  Do  they  all  do  it !  "  asked  Miranda. 
"All  ?  Who  ?  What  do  you  mean  ? " 
"  All  fashionable  ladies — are  they  all  vulgar  ?  " 
"  No,  no  !  thank  heaven,  no  !  "  replied  he,  smiling  ; 
"  but  there  is  this  fashion  of  being  fast  and  talking 
slang  got  among  them,  and  some  of  the  silly  girls 
seem    to    think  it  an    uncommonly  clever    thing. 
There   never  was  a  greater  mistake  than  that,  for 
any  fool  can  do  it ;  and  if  they  only  knew  how  it 
disgusts  men  !  *' 

"  I  don't  think  Maria  would  mind  that" 
"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  that's  all  talk- — a  blind  put 
up  to  hide  the  real  feelings  that  are  so  very  much 
the  other  way.  And  then  the  slang,  and  the  using 
vulgar  words — saying  '  drunk  '  for  '  tipsy,'  for  in- 
stance, as  Maria  did  just  now,  and  as  I  was  quite 
vexed  she  should  do  to  you — there's  no  wit  in  it; 
they  fancy  it's  piquant ;  and  it  does  provoke  a  smile, 
but  it's  only  from  the  incongruity  of  such  words 
coming  out  of  such  lips,  just  as  the  merest  approach 
to  a  joke  that  would  not  meet  with  a  moment's  atten- 
tion in  the  drawing-room,  makes  you  laugh  from  the 
pulpit,  not  because  of  its  wit,  but  simply  because  it 
is  out  of  place."  Mr.  Gregory  was  working  himself 
up  into  a  state  of  indignation,  and  quite  haranguing 


2o6         MSSS  HITCHCOCK^  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Miranda,  who,  however,  admired  all  he  said  extreme- 
ly, and  rejoiced  from  the  very  bottom  of  her  innocent 
heart  that  she  had  never,  as  far  as  she  knew,  used  a 
slang  phrase  in  her  life.  "  But  oh  ! "  he  said,  with  a 
sudden  change  of  voice  and  manner,  "  don't  let  us 
waste  our  time  in  talking  and  thinking  of  those  who 
are  not  worthy  to  be  named  in  the  same  year  with 
you,  and  into  whose  faults  and  errors  you  would 
never  fall." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Miranda,  simply  and  gravely, 
"  that  you  overrate  me  very  much  ;  I  may  not  have 
that  special  fault,  but  I  do  assure  you  I  have  plenty 
of  faults  of  my  own.  Please  don't  make  any  mis- 
take about  me  ;  it  would  be  so  unpleasant  if  you 
had  to  change  your  opinion." 

His  eyes  expressed  a  little  of-  the  love  and  admi- 
ration that  these  words  excited  in  him  ;  but  he  only 
replied,  in  a  very  low,  restrained  voice,  "  I  believe  I 
understand  your  character  better,  perhaps,  than  you 
do  yourself." 

"  That  you  easily  may,"  she  replied,  gayly,  "  for  I 
never  thought  about  understanding  it ;  I  didn't 
know  I  had  got  any  particular  character  at  all." 

"  In  that,"  he  answered,  in  the  same  low  voice, 
"lies  its  greatest  charm." 


THE  CHARADE.  207 

"  I  am  quite  sure  vanity  is  one  of  my  faults," 
said  she,  laughing  and  blushing.  "  I  find  I  like 
being — complimented."  She  was  going  to  say 
'  admired,'  but  some  instinct  made  her  change  the 
word  to  '  complimented.' 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  something  else,"  he  cried  ; 
"  something  better  than  all  the  compliments  that 
ever  were  paid.  I  hope  you  will." 

She  looked  at  him  frankly,  yet  a  little  timidly — 
smiling,  but  also  with  a  slight  color  coming  into 
her  cheeks. 

"  I  think  I  like  almost  everything,"  said  she. 

"  Life  is  very  new  to  you,"  replied  Mr.  Gregory, 
"and  as  long  as  life  is  new  everything  seems 
likable." 

"  But  /  like  old  things  best,"  said  Miranda,  with  a 
pretty  mutinous  expression  springing  up  into  her 
eyes. 

"  Like  what  you  please,"  cried  he,  laughing,  "  only, 
among  them,  like — me." 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"  And  yet,  not  among  them  either — hardly  among 
other  things  ;  I  am  more  aspiring,  more  presump- 
tuous, than  that;  it  is  as  one  apart  from  others  that 
/  would  be  liked." 


2o8         MSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  As  a  friend,"  she  said  softly,  with  a  bright  smile 
and  a  brighter  blush. 

"  Yes,  he  cried,  ardently,  "  as  a  friend,  if  only — if 
only — you  understand  all  that  the  word  may  contain." 

What  more  might  then  have  been  said  who  can 
tell  ?  But  Mr.  Gregory  and  Miranda  were  fated  to 
be  interrupted,  and  always  at  what  was,  perhaps,  the 
most  interesting  part  of  their  conversations.  At 
least  so  thought  Miranda,  when  just  at  that  minute 
Miss  Leslie  re-entered  the  room.  It  is  possible  that 
at  whatever  minute  she  had  happened  to  return 
Miranda  would  have  thought  the  same. 

"  Well,"  said  Maria,  "  here  I  am  ;  have  you  got 
anything  more  ill-natured  to  say  to  me  ? "  Then 
glancing  at  the  two  whose  tete-a-tete  she  had  dis- 
turbed, and  probably  making  her  own  observa- 
tions on  them,  she  added  in  rather  a  marked  man- 
ner, "  Pray  Arthur,  what  account  did  you  have  of 
Hannah  to-day  ? " 

"  And  his  name  is  really  Arthur,"  thought  Mi- 
randa. "  How  right ! — King  Arthur — the  Duke  of 
Wellington — the  most  beautiful  name  in  the  world  !  " 

"Hannah  is  better  to-day,"  replied  Mr.  Gregory, 
quietly  and  gravely  ;  "the  doctor  considers  that  she 
is  going  on  quite  well." 


THE  CHARADE,  209 

"  Out  of  danger  yet  ? "  inquired  Maria,  sharply. 

"  I  hardly  know,"  replied  he,  coloring  a  good  deal ; 
"  scarcely  yet,  I  should  fear.  It  must  be  difficult  in 
such  a  case  to  pronounce." 

"  Poor  Hannah — poor  Miss  Hitchcock  !  "  said 
Maria  ;  "  she  is  greatly  to  be  pitied." 

"I  don't  know  any  one  I  pity  so  much,"  said 
Miranda,  fervently. 

Mr.  Gregory  looked  at  her,  and  Maria  asked  why  ? 

Miranda  hesitated,  and  at  last  said  she  had  rather 
not  tell  her  reasons ;  but  Maria  urged  her,  and 
"  chaffed  "  her,  and  tormented  her.  First  she  made 
her  say  that  she  had  a  great  many  reasons,  and  then, 
under  pressure,  these  great  many  reasons  resolved 
themselves  into  three.  She  was  then  put  through  a 
course  of  questions  about  the  three,  and  every  now 
and  then  desired  "  not  to  mind  Arthur,  but  to  speak 
up  like  a  man." 

"  Why  should  I  mind  him  ?  "  said  Miranda.  "  Well, 
if  you  will  have  it,  I'll  tell  you.  I  pity  her  because 
she — isn't  pretty  ;  I  pity  her  because  she  doesn't 
look  —  nice  ;  and  I  pity  her  because  she  —  has 
money ! " 

"  Well,  of  all  the  reasons  for  pitying  anybody,  that 
last  is  the  queerest.  I'd  willingly  be  an  object  of 


2io         MJSS  HITCHCOCK 'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

compassion  on  those  terms ;  I  would  indeed,"  said 
Maria.  "  But,  oh  !  who  would  have  thought  it  was 
so  late  ;  there's  the  dressing  bell." 

"And  I  must  go,"  said  Mr  Gregory  ;  then,  as  he 
took  leave,  he  said  in  low,  persuasive  accents  to 
Miranda,  "  Will  you  call  at  No.  —  to-morrow  about 
four  ?  Will  you  ? " 

"  Yes — if  I  can — yes/'  replied  she,  hurriedly.  "  I 
shall  certainly  want  to  inquire  how. she  is." 

"  Thank  you,"  was  the  only  answer ;  and  he  was 
gone. 

Maria  looked  keenly  at  her. 

"  He  is  very  fond  of  lecturing  other  people,"  said 
she.  "  I  wonder  whether  he  ever  reflects  on  what 
sort  of  road  he  is  travelling  himself,  or  where  it  will 
lead  him  to." 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Miranda,  indignant 
at  the  inference  conveyed  as  much  by  the  manner 
in  which  they  were  spoken  as  by  the  words  them- 
selves. 

"  Never  mind,"  replied  she  ;  "  only  slang  is  a  trifle 
compared  with  some  other  peccadillos  ;  and  people 
who  live  in  glass  houses  shouldn't  throw  stones." 

"  That  remark  cannot  apply  to  your  cousin,"  said 
Miranda,  with  extraordinary  dignity  of  manner. 


THE  CHARADE.  211 

"  Oh,  can't  it  ?  Very  well — so  much  the  better  for 
him,  then." 

Miranda  now  wished  her  good-bye,  and,  notwith- 
standing this  slight  tiff,  the  salutations  exchanged 
between  the  two  girls  were  cordial  in  the  extreme, 
nor  would  Miss  Leslie  allow  her  to  take  her  de- 
parture till  she  had  promised  to  return  on  an  early 
day  to  practise  the  song. 

Miranda  trod  on  air  all  the  way  home,  and  her  one 
thought  was  that  she  should  see  Mr.  Gregory  again 
the  next  day,  about  four  o'clock  ;  for  certainly,  she 
reflected,  he  never  would  have  asked  me  so  earnestly, 
and  thanked  me  so  warmly,  if  he  had  not  meant  to  be 
there  himself.  Oh,  how  good  he  is  ! — how  noble  he 
is  ! — how  delightful  he  is !  and  she  stood  still  for  a 
moment  on  the  pavement,  while  a  flood  of  glory 
seemed  to  overwhelm  her,  and  compass  her  round 
about,  from  the  mere  thought  a  him — that  there 
was  such  a  man  in  the  world — that  che  had  met  him 
— and  that  he  had  chosen  her  for  his  friend. 

She  ran  gayly  in  to  tell  Sophy  everything.     Poor . 
patient,  hard-working  Sophy,  v.ho  had  been  busily 
plying  her  needle  through  the  afternoon  hours  of 
Miranda's  absence.    Poor,  kind,  sympathizing  Sophy, ' 
who  put  down  her  work  to  listen,  r.nd  had  a  word, 


2i2         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDhVG  DRESS. 

and  a  kiss,  and  a  look  ready  for  every  part  of  the 
happy  narrative,  where  word,  kiss,  or  look  were 
required !  When  an  unmarried  woman,  past  her 
first  youth,  gives  warm  sympathy  to  a  girl's  love 
story,  I  think  she  is  the  most  unselfish  of  created 
beings.  I  do  hope  there  are  crowns  of  love  in 
heaven  for  such. 

"  I  can't  help  liking  Maria,"  said  Miranda,  "  though 
she  is  vulgar.  And  if  you  could  see  her,  Sophy  ; 
she  is  the  most  refined,  soft,  delicate-looking  little 
thing  in  the  world,  and  her  mouth  is  like  a  rosebud 
or  like  a  tiny,  rosy  shell ;  and  when  these  big,  ugly, 
slang  words  come  tripping  out  of  it,  I  declare  you 
don't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry." 

"  Mr.  Gregory  was  very  severe  on  her,"  said  So- 
phy, "  but  I  hope  it  may  be  of  use  to  her  ;  she 
deserved  it." 

"  Oh,  he  would  not  have  said  it  if  she  had  not  de- 
served it,"  said  trusting  Miranda  ;  "  and  it  was  that 
made  me  first  see  how  wrong  it  was — it  had  been 
amusing  me  before  like  something  in  a  book  or  at 
the  play  ;  and  she  looks  so  sweet  and  delicate  all  the 
time,  one  can't  think  the  same  of  her  words  as  if 
she  was  a  coarse-looking,  hulking  woman.  But 
when  he  reproved  her,  I  felt  it  all  in  a  minute.  Oh, 


THE  CHARADE.  213 

Sissy  !     I  should  die  if  he  ever  spoke  to  me  like 
that." 

"  He  couldn't,  darling,"  said  Sophy,  "  because  you 
would  never  do  anything  to  make  him." 

"  Nobody  ever  scolded  me  in  my  life,"  said  Mi- 
randa, "  and  I  can't  think  what  I  should  do  if  they 
did." 

"  But,"  said  Sophy,  "  do  you  suppose  Miss  Leslie 
really  is  going  to  marry  Mr.  Hitchcock  ? " 

"  She  said  '  they  '  wanted  her  to.  I  can't  think 
who  she  could  mean  by  '  they.'  They  must  be  very 
horrid  creatures,  I'm  sure.  And  what  could  they 
want  it  for  ?  A  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father, 
and  such  a  very  disagreeable  man  too  !  He  thought 
of  nobody  at  all  but  himself,  and  he  was  not  the 
least  ashamed  to  say  so.  He  really  did  not  seem  one 
bit  aware  that  he  was  going  on  saying  heaps  of 
heartless  things  every  time  he  opened  his  mouth. 
And  his  face  was  like  the  ogre  in  the  fairy  tale 
book  at  which  I  always  screamed  when  I  was  a 
child." 
*,  "  Well,  he  can't  help  that,"  said  rational  Sophy. 

"  Oh  yes,  but  he  can,"  cried  Miranda ;  "  because  it 
is  the  expression  in  his  face  that  is  like.  Anybody 
can  help  having  an  ogre's  expression  ;  it  would  be 


214         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIA'G  DRESS. 

most  unfair  if  they  couldn't.  Really,  Sissy,  I  never 
saw  such  an  ill-natured  face  in  my  life  before.  Poor 
Miss  Hitchcock's  is  nothing  to  it — nothing  at  all." 

"  I  hope  they  won't  marry  that  poor  little  thing  to 
nim." 

"  But  why  should  they  want  to  do  it,  Sissy  ?  and 
who  do  you  think  they  are  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Sophy,  almost  reluctant  to  put 
such  ideas  before  her  innocent  sister — "  I  suppose 
he  is  what  is  called  a  good  match — very  rich,  you 
know,  and  that  Miss  Leslie's  parents  want  her  to 
marry  him  on  that  account." 

"  Oh,  how  shocking ! "  said  Miranda,  quite  appalled. 
"  What  dreadful  wickedness  !  Let  us  Jiope,  Sissy, 
it's  not  anything  so  bad  as  that." 

Mrs.  Green  tapped  at  the  door  now,  and,  being 
asked  to  enter,  gave  Mr.  Gaunt's  compliments,  and 
would  the  two  ladies  mind  stepping  down  into  his 
room  for  half-an-hour,  while  he  just  gave  a  touch  or 
two  more  to  his  sketch  of  Miss  Miranda  ?  Sophy 
was  up  and  dressed  that  day  for  the  first  time, 
though  she  had  not  ventured  out  of  her  garret  yet  ; 
but  she  thought  the  change  of  air  and  scene  would 
be  rather  pleasant  ;  so  taking  Miranda's  arm,  the  two 
descended  the  stairs  and  paid  a  visit  to  the  first  floor. 


THE  CHARADE.  215 

He  received  them  with  bluff  cordiality,  set  chairs 
for  them,  and  declared  himself  delighted  to  see  Miss 
Maxwell  "  on  her  legs  again." 

"  You  had  a  close  shave,"  said  he  ;"but  it  doesn't 
matter  how  close  when  the  razor's  shut  up  out  of 
sight  in  its  case  again." 

Then  he  took  a  sheet  of  paper  out  of  a  portfolio, 
and  silently  laid  it  before  Miranda,  who  after  look- 
ing at  it,  cried  out,  astonished,  "  Maria  !  " 

For  it  was  a  charming  little  sketch  of  Miss  Leslie, 
and  certainly  made  her  look  as  if  no  slang  word 
could  ever  have  passed  her  delicate  lips. 

"  Is  it  like  ?  "  he  said,  rather  eagerly.  "  She's  so 
difficult  to  do  ;  it's  hardly  possible  to  make  her 
spirituelle  enough,  and  I  only  did  it  from  memory. 
Is  it  really  like  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.  I  was  with  her  all  this  afternoon, 
so  I  have  her  fresh  in  my  memory.  It  is  very  like." 

He  looked  at  it  discontentedly.  "  It  does  not  do 
her  justice,"  he  said  ;  "  but  that's  not  easy.  I  suppose 
she  told  you  how  I  dragged  her  about  from  place  to 
place  and  stuffed  her  coach  full  of  queer  people, 
though,  I  dare  say,  she  thought  none  of  them  as 
queer  as  myself,"  and  he  gave  Miranda  a  quick  up- 
ward glance  from  under  his  shaggy  brows. 


216         MI~S  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  She"  was  enchanted  when  she  heard  who  you 
were,  and  said  she  was  wild  about  art,  and  that  it 
was  an  honor  to  have  had  a  tete-a-tete  drive  with 
you,"  said  Miranda,  smiling.  She  did  not  add  that 
she  had  called  him  a  nice  beast ;  and  when  she  saw 
how  pleased  he  looked,  she  thought  it  was  quite  as 
well  she  had  not  mentioned  it. 

"  Well  now,"  cried  he,  "  let's  go  to  work  and  finish 
Miranda,  at  least  as  much  of  her  as  can  be  done  out 
of  the  studio. " 

So  Miranda  sat  to  him,  serene  and  lovely,  and 
thinking  of  Mr.  Gregory  all  the  time. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

LOVE. 

THE  next  morning  dawned  fair  and  radiant, 
ushering  in  one  of  our  lovely  English  summer 
days,  unsurpassed  in  beauty  by  those  of  any  other 
country  on  this  globe.  Did  it  know  what  it  bore  in  its 
bosom  for  Miranda  ?  or  was  it  as  unconscious  as  the 
child  herself  when  she  danced  gayly  forth  to  meet 
Mr.  Gregory  at  Miss  Hitchcock's  ?  Never  again,  Mi- 
randa, will  you  be  quite  the  same  as  you  are  to-day  ; 
be  it  joy  or  be  it  sorrow  that  lies  before  you,  it  is  a 
new  joy  or  a  new  sorrow  ;  and  the  old  life,  the  beau- 
tiful life  of  your  childhood,  is  vanishing  from  you, 
never  to  be  yours  again — never  more !  No  knell  of 
departing  days  sounded  in  her  ears — no  chime  of 
brighter  joys  fast  coming.  She  danced  on  in  her 
innocent  gayety,  thinking  neither  of  the  past  nor  of 
future,  only  of  the  all-sufficient  present.  She  was  to 
see  him,  and  that  was  enough  for  her.  But  how  or 


218          MJSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIXG  DRESS. 

why  the  seeing  him  should  be  enough  for  her  she 
never  thought  of  asking  herself. 

And  so  she  rang  the  bell  of  No.  — ,  Eaton  Place, 
and  was  ushered  by  the  same  servant  into  the  same 
pretty  little  sitting-room  where  she  had  conversed 
with  Mr.  Hitchcock  the  day  before.  But  it  was 
not  Mr.  Hitchcock  who  joined  her  now  ;  it  was 
Lady  Gregory's  nephew. 

A  sudden,  rapid  memory  took  her  back  to  the  first 
moment  she  had  ever  seen  him,  before  she  had  so 
much  as  heard  him  speak,  when  the  tall,  handsome, 
fashionable  man  had  gravely  offered  her  his  arm 
and  asked  her  to  dance. 

"  You  will  excuse  my  not  waiting  for  an  introduc- 
tion," he  had  said ;  "  but  I  am  Lady  Gregory's 
nephew." 

She  could  not  tell  why  she  thought  of  this  first 
meeting,  when  their  souls  were  strangers  to  each 
other,  now  that  he  came  up  to  her  with  the  eager- 
ness and  warmth  of  a  friend,  pressed  her  hand  in 
his,  and  said,  "  You  have  come  !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  softly,  "  I  have  come." 

"  Is  anyone  with  you  ? " 

"  No  ;  I  am  quite  alone.  How  is  she  to-day  ?  is 
she  better  ? " 


LOVE.  219 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  a  good  deal  better ;  the  doctors 
begin  to  say  now  that  they  think  she  will  recover." 

"  And  where  is  her  father  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone  out  of  town.  He  could  not  bear 
to  have  such  a  case  of  serious'  illness  in  the  house." 

"  No  ;  he  is  a  horribly  selfish  man." 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you 
— something  I  have  wished  to  say  almost  from  the 
first  minute  in  which  I  saw  you,  that  minute  which 
I  shall  never  forget  as  long  as  I  have  the  power  of 
remembering  anything — and  I  must  say  it  now,  be- 
cause I  am  obliged  to  leave  London. 

"  To  leave  London  !  "  cried  she,  in  dismay.  "  Oh ! 
not  really  ? " 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  some  agitation  of 
manner.  "You  may  be  sure  I  would  not  go  unless 
I  was  forced  ;  but  thank  you  for  caring." 

"  Of  course  I  care." 

"  I  shall  not  stay  long — only  a  few  days  ;  I  shall 
return  the  first  possible  moment ;  but  I  can't  bear  to 
go  without  speaking,  because — because — who  knows 
what  may  happen  in  a  few  days  even  ? " 

"  But  what  is  it  you  want  to  say  ?  " 

"  Ay,  what  is  it  ? "  cried  he.  "  What  is  it  ?  Dare 
I  tell  you  !  Can  you  assure  me  that  I  dare  tell  you  ? 


HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIXG  DRESS. 

I  have  brought  you  here  on  purpose,  and  I  stand  be- 
fore you  powerless — the  veriest  coward  that  ever 
crawled  upon  the  earth." 

"  You  a  toward  !     Oh,  how  can  you  say  so  ? " 

"  Do  you  believe  in  love  at  first  sight  ? " 

"  In  love  at  first  sight  ?  Oh,  dear,-  no,  of  course 
not  ;  does  anybody  ?  " 

"  Yes— I  do." 

"  But  love  must  be  founded  on  respect,  on  esteem, 
on  a  knowledge  of  character." 

"  Must  it  ?  Not  so — not  founded  on  them  like 
other  feelings  ;  or  whence  comes  it  that  it  is  love? 
How  does  it  differ,  then,  from  friendship,  or  calm, 
fraternal  regard  ?  No,  believe  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  love — man's  love  for  woman — comes  in  a  mo- 
ment, divining  character,  and  itself  laying  the  foun- 
dation for  the  esteem  you  speak  of." 

"  Does  it  ?  "  half  sighed  Miranda,  with  strange, 
trembling  sensations  creeping  over  her. 

"  It  does  ;  and  then  from  it  springs  the  return  a 
woman  can  make — far  different,  much  cooler — half 
gratitude,  half  gentle  regard,  out  of  which  the  warmer 
feeling  will  surely  come.  If  a  girl  feels  she  has  that 
for  a  man  who  would  willingly  die  to  possess  her  as 
his  own,  let  her  be  content." 


LOVE.  221 

He  spoke  in  strong,  suppressed  agitation.  His 
deep  voice  trembled,  and  his  dark  eyes  shot  fire. 

Miranda  stood  like  one  in  a  dream,  her  lovely  face 
suffused  with  blushes,  her  eyes  downcast,  her  breast 
softly  heaving. 

He  could  resist  his  own  passion — he  could  keep 
back  what  he  felt — no  longer. 

"  I  love  you  !  "  cried  he. 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  in  a  sort  of  appeal, 
and  seemed  almost  as  if  she  would  fall ;  but  in  that 
instant  she  was  clasped  to  his  heart,  and  held  there 
with  a  tender  force  that  she  had  neither  the  power 
nor  the  will  to  resist. 

"  He  loved  her  !  Was  it  possible  ?  Was  this  the 
meaning  of  it  all  ?  And — she  loved  him  !  And  with 
that  thought  her  face  was  hidden  on  his  shoulder, 
and  she  yielded  herself  to  those  protecting  arms. 

He  felt  the  shy,  loving  movement. 

"  My  darling — my  darling — my  own  darling  !  "  he 
cried,  triumph  in  his  voice,  and  passionate  joy  in  his 
eyes  ;  "  you  love  me — you  love  me  !  " 

But  she  drew  herself  away  from  him,  and  stood 
there,  and  turned  her  lovely  eyes  on  him  with  their 
frank,  innocent,  startled  gaze. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  I  love  you." 


222          MfSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

Then  she  hid  her  face  in  her  two  little  hands,  and, 
affrighted  at  her  own  boldness,  would  have  run  away. 

But  how  could  she  run  away  when  he  was  there 
to  prevent  her  ? 

And  so  some  minutes  passed  in  that  sweetest  of 
all  converse — the  first  fresh  words  and  vows  of  newly 
spoken  love. 

After  many  and  many  fond  expressions  and  tender 
questions,  with  their  happy  replies,  he  said,  suddenly. 
"  And  now,  my  darling,  only  think — I  don't  even 
know  your  Christian  name." 

"  Miranda,"  replied  she,  shyly. 

"  Mi-ran-da  !  "  said  he,  dwelling  tenderly  on  the 
syllables.  "  What  a  sweet  name,  and  how  exactly 
your  own.  But  we  must  change  the  other  part  of  it 
very  soon  ;  it  must  not  continue  to  be  Miranda 
Style." 

With  a  sudden  start  she  withdrew  herself  from 
the  arm  that  had  again  encircled  her. 

"  Oh,  I  had  forgotten — I  had  forgotten  ! "  she 
cried.  There  was  terror  in  her  eyes  and  despair  in 
her  voice.  "  It  is  all  over — all — all  over !  " 

And  she  wrung  her  hands  and  looked  at  him  with 
a  grief  and  a  remorse  that  he  felt  he  never  could 
forget.  He  was  silent  from  sheer  astonishment. 


LOVE.  223 

"  lam  not  Miss  Style,  and  you  won't  \vish  to — " 
Marry  me — was  the  natural  conclusion  of  the 
sentence,  but  her  newly  awakened  heart  could  not 
say  such  words  as  those  even  to  itself. 

"  You  will  never  like  me  again.  I  am  not  Miss 
Style.  I  am  a'i  impostor  ;  but  I  didn't  meant  it. 
Oh,  I  didn't  mean  it  ! "  she  cried. 

"  My  darling,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  Miss  Style.  I  am  an  impostor.  I  am 
— a  dressmaker." 

"You  are  not  Miss  Style?  You  are  a  dress- 
maker ?  My  dear  love,  are  you  mad  ?  or  do  you  think 
I  am  a  fool  who  will  believe  anything  that  is  said 
to  him  ? " 

"  You  must  believe  me,"  she  cried,  in  strong  agita- 
tion. "  I  am  telling  you  the  simple,  miserable  truth  ; 
but  I  didn't  mean  it — it  was  done  all  in  joke.  I 
never  thought  about  it  when  I  was  with  you,  except 
for  an  instant  now  and  then,  when  it  seemed  so 
amusing.  I  was  thinking  only  of  you,  and  so  it 
never  occurred  to  me  ;  and  I  never  guessed — I  had 
not  an  idea  that  you — you  know  I  had  not  an  idea 
— or  I  would  have  told  you  at  once.  I  never,  never 
meant  to  deceive  you  for  a  moment.  Oh  !  you  must 
believe  me  when  I  say  that'' ^ 


224         MISS.  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Be  calm,  my  dearest,  I  will  believe  anything ; 
but  what  —  what,  in  Heaven's  name,  does  it  all 
mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  your  dearest.  You  will  never — 
like  me — again.  I  am  a  dressmaker  !  " 

"  A — dress — maker  !  " 

"  Of  course,  I  am  a  lady.  Papa  was  a  clergyman, 
but  he  died  so  poor,  and  Sissy  did  not  like  me  to  be 
a  governess,  so  we  work  for  Madam  La  Gai." 

"  Where  I  met  you  ?  "  he  cried  he,  still  utterly  be- 
wildered. , 

"  Yes,  yes,  where  I  met  you  ;  and  I  went  to  that 
ball  in  Miss  Hitchcock's  wedding  dress." 

He  stared  at  her  with  a  sort  of  blank  look  in  his 
face,  then  he  took  hold  of  one  of  his  hands  in  the 
other  and  pinched  it  violently. 

"  I  feel  the  pain,"  said  he,  still  staring  at  her.  "  I 
am  not  asleep.  Am  I  going  mad  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  she'  cried.  "Don't  look  at  me  so. 
You  are  not  mad  ;  you  are  only  hearing  just  what 
I  say.  Oh  !  don't  speak  to  me  as  you  did  to  Maria ; 
she  was  only  foolish,  and  I  was  wicked  ;  but  I  shall 
die  if  you  speak  to  me  as  you  did  to  her.  I  had 
just  finished  the  dress,  and  I  was  so  silly  that  I  put 
it  on  ;  indeed  I  never  did  such  a  thing  before.  I 


LOVE.  .x    -225 

can't  think  why  I  did  it  then,  but  I  felt  as  if  I 
couldn't  help  it.  And  then  I  didn't  know  it  when 
I  put  on  the  dress  ;  but  there  was  a  ball  next  door, 
and  I  slipped  out  and  slipped  in  and  followed  them 
up  stairs.  Oh,  the  joy  of  it !  Oh,  how  happy  it 
was  ! " 

And  an  expression  of  delight  came  suddenly  into 
her  agonized  face,  while  she  gave  him  a  radiant 
smile. 

And  the  same  instant  she  felt  herself  clasped  to 
his  heart. 

"  My  darling,"  he  cried,  "  what  does  it  matter  who 
you  are.  It  is  yourself  that  I  love,  whatever  your 
name  may  be." 

The  happiness  of  the  next  few  minutes  was  some- 
thing more  than  is  often  given  to  mortals  to 
know.  And  when,  at  last,  they  came  out  of  the 
blissful  dream,  Miranda  was  able  to  explain  more 
coherently  what  had  passed,  and  how  it  had  all 
happened.  She  found,  not  that  she  was  forgiven, 
but  that  she  was  not  considered  to  have  done  any- 
thing that  required  forgiveness.  Her  lover,  from  the 
first,  clearly  understood  her  innocent  daring,  and  in 
some  way,  and  for  some  reason  that  she  could  scarce- 
ly enter  into,  loved  her  all  the  better  for  it. 


226          MSSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIXG  DRESS. 

When  she  was  composed  enough,  she  told  him 
her  own  and  Sophy's  sad  story,  and  how  they  had 
worked  to  support  themselves  since  their  father's 
death.  In  the  midst  of  this  little  history  her  real 
name  has  been  mentioned,  and  she  spoke  of  Brook- 
field,  the  living  that  her  father  had  been  rector  of, 
where  she  had  been  born,  and  where  her  happy 
childhood  had  glided  away ;  but  when  the  name 
passed  her  lips,  Mr.  Gregory  interrupted  her  with 
vehemence. 

"  Brookfield  ! "  he  cried.  "  Maxwell  !  Is  it  possi- 
ble then,  my  love,  that  you  are  the  daughter  of  Mr. 
Maxwell  of  Brookfield  ?  Why,  I  have  heard  his 
name  all  my  life  ;  he  was  at  college  with  my  uncle 
Charles,  and  was  his  intimate  friend.  Uncle  Charles 
is  a  clergyman  too." 

"  How  wonderful  !  "  cried  Miranda.  "  Then  after 
all  we  are  old  family  friends.  How  delightfully 
everything  always  turns  out !  " 

"Never  till  now — now  always,"  replied  he,  ten- 
derly. "  My  life  was  all  astray  till  I  met  you — 
nothing  went  well.  Now  I  am  sure  it  will  all  be 
like  marriage  bells.  And  when — when — when  will 
those  marriage  bells  sound  for  us,  Miranda  ? " 

He   addressed   her  by  her   name,  for   the   first 


LOVE.  227 

time,  as  if  a  whole  world  of  joy  lay  in  the  very 
sound. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  surely  we  are  happy  enough 
now  without  wishing  for  any  change  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  boldly,  "  we  are  not — I  am  not  I 
shall  never  be  content  till  you  are. my  own." 

"  I  am  that  now,"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

"  You  are  not,"  he  cried.  "  See,  I  must  go  out 
of  town,  and  I  cannot  take  you  with  me." 

"  Then  why  do  you  go  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  why,  indeed  ?  Why  do  we  let  business  or 
duties,  even  the  most  important,  stand  between  us 
and  the  little,  little  happiness  we  can  ever  know  ? " 

"  Little  happiness  ?  " 

"  No,  no — great,  immense,  overwhelming,  satisfy- 
ing. I  speak  only  of  time.  Life  is  so  short." 

"  Short !  "  cried  she,  astonished  ;  "  it  seems  to 
me  like  a  lovely,  endless  valley  that  at  last  only 
melts  into  the  sky." 

And  she  sighed,  and  lifted  up  her  eyes  as  if  she 
saw  heaven. 

"  I  am  not  an  angel  like  you,"  was  his  only 
answer. 

"  But  why  are  you  going  out  of  town  ? "  said  she, 
smiling ;  "  and  I  want  you  to  know  Sissy." 


228         MISS  HITCHCOCfCS  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Ah  !  do  you  remember  when  you  refused  to 
introduce  me  to  her  ?  " 

"  Ah  yes  !  Do  you  recollect  such  little  things  ? 
How  affronted  you  were  !  " 

"  But  the  reason  why  I  must  go  down  to  the  Hall 
(my  home,  you  know — -your  home,  Miranda)i  is,  that 
I  have  made  appointments  there  about  buying  and 
selling  land.  There  are  lawyers  and  people  to  meet 
me.  It  has  been  long  arranged,  and  this  is  the 
only  time  it  can  be  done.  A  neighbor  on  whom 
it  all  depends  is  just  of  age,  and  must  act  now,  as 
he  is  going  abroad  immediately." 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  as  soon  as  ever  you  come  back 
I  will  introduce  you  to  Sissy.  How  you  will  like 
her." 

"  And  she — will  she  like  me  ? " 

"  Like  you !  What  a  question !  Of  course  she 
will. 

"  And  then,"  said  he,  "  when  I  come  back,  I  must 
see  Miss  Hitchcock.  She  will  be  well  enough  then, 
I  suppose,  and  we  will  finally  settle  that  disagree- 
able business."  His  brow  clouded  for  a  moment, 
but  when  he  looked  at  her  it  cleared  again. 

"  What  business  have  you  with  her,  poor  thing  ? " 

"  My  love,  have  you  forgotten  ?  " 


LOVE.  229 

"  Forgotten  ?  No  !  Why,  she  was  not  deceived 
too,  was  she  ?  She  does  not  suppose  I  am  Miss 
Style  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  she  does,  though  I  don't  see  what 
that  has  to  do  with  it." 

"  And  Maria,  your  cousin  ?  No,  I  know  she  does 
not,  because  they  tried  the  mantle  on  me  that  day  I 
sang  to  them,  you  know.  Oh !  but  Miss  Hitchcock 
was  there  too,  and  called  me 'that  young  woman,' 
so  she  cannot  have  known  who  I  was." 

"  How  extremely  impertinent ! "  said  he,  coloring 
deeply. 

"  No,  don't  mind,"  she  said,  coaxingly  ;  "  it  wasn't 
impertinent ;  she  thought  I  was  there  on  purpose. 
It  was  all  a  mistake  ;  and  Madame  La  Gai  was  so 
sorry,  and  told  me  it  should  never  happen  again." 

"  I  think,  then,  that  Madame  La  Gai  must  have 
said  something  to  support  your  dignity  that  misled 
them  all  ;  for  certainly,  they,  one  and  all  of  them, 
believe  you  are  Miss  Style.  I  know  they  were  ex- 
tremely puzzled  by  your  likeness  to  yourself  at  the 
bail,  and  Maria  questioned  her  the  next  day,  and 
asked  if  you  were  not  really  a  lady,  and  had  been 
at  play  with  them  ;  and  from  what  she  said  in  reply, 
Maria  had  not  a  doubt  you  were  Miss  Style,  indeed 


230         MJSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

she  assured  me  Madame  La  Gai  had  told  her  so.  I 
know  Hitchcock  thought  so  when  he  sent  me 
after  you  yesterday." 

"  Then  I  have  been  going  everywhere  under  false 
pretences,  and  I  had  not  the  least  idea  of  it  ;  and 
when  they,  any  of  them,  referred  to  masquerading, 
I  was  in  such  a  fright,  thinking,  for  the  moment, 
that  they  had  found  out  about  Miss  Hitchcock's 
wedding  dress/' 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  smiling  at  her ;  "  see  what  it  is 
to  have  a  guilty  conscience." 

"  And  ajl  this  time  everybody  has  thought  I  was 
Miss  Style ! " 

"  And  I  am  so  glad  you  are  not.  I  am  so  glad  you 
are  Miranda  Maxwell." 

"  Are  you  really  ?  And  just  now  I  thought  you 
would  give  me  up  because  I  was  myself.  Oh,  how 
miserable  I  was  !  I  wonder  whether  I  should  have 
died.  I  do  think  I  should  ;  not  just  that  minute 
you  know,  but  in  a  little  time." 

There  was  only  one  reply  he  could  make  to  this 
speech,  given,  as  it  was,  so  entirely  from  her  heart. 
When  he  had  made  it,  she  said,  "  But  why  are  you 
particularly  anxious  Miss  Hitchcock  should  know 
who  I  really  am  ?  " 


LOVE.  231 

"  My  love,  I  am  not  in  the  least  anxious.  I  don't 
care  a  halfpenny  about  it  ;  in  fact,  I  am  not  particu- 
larly anxious  for  anything,  except  that  everybody 
should,  as  soon  as  possible,  know  you  as  my  wife." 

Miranda  blushed  beautifully  at  the  word. 

"  But,"  said  she,  rather  timidly,  "  you  said  you 
must  explain  it  to  her,  and  that  it  would  be  very  dis- 
agreeable." 

"  No,  no — not  it.  I  was  not  referring  to  that.  My 
darling,  have  you  really  forgotten  that  I  was  engaged 
to  Miss  Hitchcock,  and  that  the  empty  form  of  that 
engagement — it  was  never  anything  more — must  be 
broken  off  ?  I  should  have  done  it  before  I  spoke  to 
you  at  all,  but  for  this  accident  she  has  met  with." 

It  was  now  Miranda's  turn  to  look  at  him  in  blank 
amazement,  only  she  really  did  not  seem  capable  of 
taking  in  the  meaning  of  the  words. 

"  Engaged  to  Miss  Hitchcock !  "  she  repeated 
slowly,  and  like  a  person  speaking  in  her  sleep. 
"You!" 

"Yes,  of  course,  I,"  he  said,  rather  impatiently. 
"  You  have  known  it  from  the  first.  You  knew  it 
before  we  met." 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  forehead  and  pushed 
back  her  hair,  as  if  she  thought  it  oppressed  her  head. 


232         -fl/ASS  HITCIfCOCJTS  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  You  engaged  to  Miss  Hitchcock ! "  she  said 
again,  and  still  incredulously,  though  this  time  with 
a  little  fear  in  her  voice  ;  "  but  Mr.  Cressingham  ? — • 
surely — he — Mr.  Cressingham  ?  "  and  her  tones  rose 
almost  shrilly  (if  shrillness  and  Miranda  could  be 
named  together)  as  she  repeated  the  name. 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  he  cried.  "  You  must  know 
— there  cannot  be  a  double  misunderstanding.  Why 
do  you  look  so  ?  Why  do  you  speak  so  ?  You  must 
know  that  /  am  Mr.  Cressingham  ! " 

"  You  !  "  cried  Miranda ;  that  was  all  she  said. 

Then  there  was  a  minute's  silence.  He  stood, 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  astonished  and  uneasy  ;  but 
she?  he  could  not  unravel  the  mystery  that  he 
found  in  her  face.  And  so  they  stood  looking  at 
each  other — these  two,  who,  so  short  a  space  of  time 
back,  had  believed  that  the  world  held  nothing  but 
happiness  for  them  both. 

"  My  dearest  love,"  cried  he  at  last,  "  what  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?  What  difference  does  it  make  ?  " 
and  he  laughed,  or  tried  to  laugh.  "  Of  course  I  am 
Mr.  Cressingham.  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that 
you  did  not  know  it." 

"  You  are  Mr.  Cressingham,"  said  she.  "  You  are 
engaged  to  Miss  Hitchcock." 


LOVE.  233 

"  Don't  say  it  in  that  way,"  he  cried,  with  sudden 
anger.  ""  Yes,  /  am  Mr.  Cressingham.  /  am  engaged 
to  Miss  Hitchcock.  What  then  ?" 

"  Then  you  are  not  engaged  to  me  !  " 

"  My  darling,  don't  say  so.  I  am  engaged  to  you 
— doubly,  trebly  engaged  to  you — engaged  by  all 
that  is  dear  on  earth  or  sacred  in  heaven.  I  am  not 
engaged  to  her.  A  stupid  form  has  passed  between 
us,  nothing  more  ;  it  can  be  blown  away  by  a  breath." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Miranda,  drearily  ;  "you  are  hers. 
You  are  not  mine.  I  will  not  have  you." 

V 

"  You  will  not  have  me  ! " 

"  No  ;  you  are  not  good  ;  you  are  not  noble."  She 
wrung  her  hands  in  agony.  "  You  are  hers  ;  you  are 
not  mine." 

"  I  am  yours  by  every  law,  human  and  divine, 
Miranda,  and  I  will  not  give  you  up." 

"And  my  life  rise  from  her  death  ?" — she  shud- 
dered as  she  spoke — "the  death  of  her  happiness  and 
her  hope  !  Oh  no,  no ;  you  have  promised  yourself 
to  her,  and  you  must  have  her." 

"-That  I  will  not.  I  will  break  off  the  engage- 
ment ;  it  is  an  unholy  one.  I  was  blind  when  I 
made  it ;  I  see  now." 

"And  she?" 


234         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Oh  !  she — she,"  he  cried,  impatiently — "  she  is 
not  worthy  of  a  thought ;  a  hard,  heartless  woman 
to  stand  in  our  way — in  the  way  of  our  love  !  She 
does  not  care  a  straw  for  me." 

"  She  does,"  said  Miranda,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
solemnly  pronounced  her  own  death-warrant ;  and, 
indeed,  what  else  did  she  do  when  she  uttered  those 
words  ?  "  She  does  ;  I  know — I  feel  she  does.  Oh 
yes,  you  must  marry  her  ;  you  have  promised  it,  and 
it  must  be." 

"  Are  you  heartless  too  ?  "  cried  he,  with  sudden 
passion.  "  Oh,  I  see — I  understand — you  do  not 
love  me." ' 

She  shook  her  head  sorrowfully. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "  I  love  you  ;  did  I  not  tell 
you  so  ?  Why  should  you  doubt  it  ?  Love  cannot 
change ;  can  it  ?  I  suppose  I  shall  love  you  for 
ever;  shall  I  not?" 

She  seemed  really  asking  him,  as  if  for  informa- 
tion she  was  anxious  to  have. 

"Miranda,"  he  said,  in  an  agony  of  love,  anger, 
and  apprehension,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?  If  you  love 
me,  what  does  it  matter  I  Are  you  afraid  that  I  do 
not  really  love  you?  I  swear  to  you,  by  everything 
I  hold  dear,  that  I  have  never  loved  anyone  else,  and 


LOVE.  235 

that  my  affection  will  only  cease  with  my  life.  Then, 
if  we  both  love  each  other,  why  should  you  care  ? 
This  past  folly — this  mistake  I  have  made — will  soon 
be  over ;  no  one  will  be  the  worse  for  it ; 
and  you  and  I  will  be  perfectly  happy — you  and  I, 
Miranda." 

Everything  was  gone  from  his  manner,  as  he 
finished  speaking,  but  love,  and  he  ran  up  to  her  to 
take  her  again  in  his  arms,  but  she  pushed  him  back 
from  her  with  a  sort  of  horror. 

"  You  are  not  good,"  she  said  ;  "  I  can't  marry 
you;  and  you  are  bound  to  her" 

"  You  told  me  yourself,"  cried  he,  trembling  with 
impatience,  "  that  an  engagement  might  be  broken 
off — that  it  was  better  not  to  make  false  vows.  I 
will  go  to  her — T  will  tell  her — I  will  ask  her  to 
break  it  off,  and  she  will  consent.  And  then  I  will 
come  to  you,  and  you  will  receive  me."  There  was 
almost  defiance  in  his  tone,  as  if  he  would  force  her 
to  give  an  answer  which  he  knew  she  was  going  to 
refuse  to  make. 

"  No,  "  she  said  ;  "  I  shall  not.     Let  me  go  away  ; 
I  can't  bear  this  any  longer  ;  my  heart  is  breaking. 
But  you  are  not  good,  and  I  can't  marry  you." 
.   "  You  have  no  heart !  "  he  cried.     "  I  have  poured 


236         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

out  all  the  wealth  of  my  love  on  one  who  cannot 
return  it." . 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  said,  faintly,  and  moved  towards 
the  door. 

He  placed  himself  between  her  and  it. 

"  Will  you  marry  me  ?  "  he  said,  fiercely. 

"-No,  I  will  not,"  said  sorrowful  Miranda. 

"  Because  I  am  not  good  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  because  you  are  not  what  I  thought  you, 
and  because  I  cannot  make  that  other  miserable." 

"  That  other  !  And  have  you  no  thought  for  me  ? 
Am  not  I  miserable  ?  And  have  you  not  even  a 
tear  for  me,  Miranda  ?  " 

"  A  tear  !  "  cried  Miranda,  astonished,  and  touch- 
ing her  dry  eyes  with  her  hand.  "  Am  I  not  crying  ? 
Ah,  how  happy  I  used  to  be  when  I  cried  !  I 
suppose  I  shall  never  shed  any  more  tears  ever 
again." 

There  was  something  indescribably  pathetic  in  the 
way  in  which  she  said  these  words  ;  and  her  lover, 
proud,  strong,  indignant  as  he  was,  felt  as  if  he  could 
have  cried  himself  as  he  heard  them. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  any  more,"  she  said.  "  Let 
go — it  is  of  no  use." 

"  Go,"  he  said  ;  "  but  if  you  care  for  me,  you  will 


LOVE.  237 

come  back ;  if  you  do  not,  I  must  bear  my  misery  as 
I  can." 

Miranda  came  up  close  to  him.  She  touched 
him  lightly  on  the  shoulder  with  one  hand,  and 
looked  earnestly  in  his  face. 

"  You  must  marry  her  if  she  will,"  she  said,  soft- 
ly, "and  make  her  happy  if  you  can  ;  and  then — oh! 
my  love,  if  you  do  this,  we  may  meet  in  heaven." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    END. 

r  ¥  ""HERE  had  been  some  noise  in  the  house  that 
threatened  interruption,  or  perhaps  Mr.  Cress- 
ingham  might  not  have  let  Miranda  go  even  then. 
She  left  him  she  scarcely  knew  how  ;  and  he  hardly 
knew  that  she  was  gone  till  he  looked  round  and 
found  himself  alone. 

As  for  her,  she  walked  home  like  a  creature  in  a 
dream.  She  did  not  feel  the  pavement  under  her 
feet  ;  she  did  not  see  the  people  who  passed  or  met 
her.  Nothing  was  real — nothing  was  alive  ;  despair 
was  in  her  heart  and  in  her  face,  and  her  meaning- 
less eyes  looked  steadily  on,  with  a  hopeless,  dead 
look  in  them,  which,  with  her  white  cheeks  and 
rapid,  changeless  pace,  drew  the  momentary  atten- 
tion of  many  a  passenger,  wrapped  in  his  own  busi- 
ness, towards  her.  One  benevolent  man,  the  father 
of  growing-up  daughters,  turned  and  followed  her  a 


THE  EATD.  239 

little  way  ;  but  this  was  just  as  she  reached  home ; 
and  when  he  saw  her  enter  her  home,  he  went  on 
his  own  route  again  with  quite  a  sigh  of  relief. 

She  let  herself  in.  She  crept  noiselessly  up  stairs, 
ashamed  and  afraid  ;  and  entering  the  little  garret, 
which  had  witnessed  many  a  day  all  the  sweet gayety 
of  her  girlish  spirits,  she  flung  herself  prostrate  on 
the  bed,  and  buried  her  poor,  tearless  face  in  the 
pillow. 

She  lay  thus  for  many  hours. 

At  last  Sophy  found  her — patient  Sophy,  who 
had  been  working  below — working,  watching,  and 
wondering — waiting  for  her  darling  to  come  home  to 
her,  with  bright  hopes  in  her  heart  of  what  her  dar- 
ling might  have  to  say.  At  last  she  went  up  stairs 
to  get  some  more  thread,  and  there  she  found  her. 

The  smart"  bonnet  and  Indian  shawl  were  on  the 
floor,  and  Miranda  herself  lay  crushed  together,  as 
it  were,  on  the  bed,  her  pretty  hair  all  hanging  about 
her,  her  dress  in  disorder,  and  when  she  sat  up  and 
stared  at  Sophy  her  face  was  ghastly  white,  her  eyes 
sunk,  with  black  circles  round  them,  and  her  fair 
face  shocking  to  behold. 

She  began  to  speak  instantly,  before  Sophy  had 
time  even  to  exclaim. 


240         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIXG  DRESS. 

"Oh!  Sissy,"  she  said,  "it  is  all  over — it  is  all 
over.  Oh  !  what  shall  I  do  ? — what  shall  I 
do  ? " 

"  Miranda,  you  frighten  me.  What  is  the  matter  ? 
Some  dreadful  thing  has  happened  ;  what  is  it  ? " 

"  Some  dreadful  thing  has  happened  ;  what  is  it  ?  " 
repeated  Miranda,  in  a  tone  of  wonder.  Then  it  ail 
rushed  back  upon  her.  "  Oh  yes — I  know — I  know 
— dreadful,  indeed — dreadful,  indeed  !  He  is  not 
good,  Sissy — he  is  not  good — he  is  not  good  !  " 

And  again  she  sank  down,  and  again  her  face  was 
hidden  in  the  pillow,  and  her  slight  figure  almost 
concealed  by  all  the  chestnut  hair  that  lay  about  it. 

"  He  has  insulted  you  ! " 

"  Insulted  me  !  "  cried  she,  sitting  up  again.  "  He 
loves  me  so  he  could  not  insult  me,  and  I  love  him. 
Oh  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  love  him.  What  shall  I 
do  ?— what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Did  he  tell  you  he  loved  you  ?  "  cried  Sophy, 
eagerly.  "  Did  he  ask  you  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  Did  you  know  I  lovecl  him,  Sissy  ?  I  didn't  ; 
but  oh,  how  happy  we  were  !  How  long  ago  is  it,  I 
wonder?  It  seems  years.  Is  it  really  only  to-day?" 


THE  END. 


241 


"  But,  Miranda,  my  clear,  what  is  all  this  about  ? 
What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  He  is  engaged  to  Miss  Hitchcock  !  " 

"  Who  ?    Mr.  Cressingham  is — is  not  he  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  Mr.  Gregory  is — Mr.  Gregory  is  Mr. 
Cressingham,  and  he  is  engaged  to  Miss  Hitchcock. 
There  now,  you  know  it  all.  Do  you  think  I  shall 
die,  Sissy  ?  Some  people  do  die  young — mamma  did. 
Oh,  how  I  hope  I  may  !  " 

"  Miranda,  don't  talk  so — pray,  don't  talk  so  ;  I 
can't  bear  it,  my  love.  But  what  do  you  mean, 
then  ?  I  thought  you  said  he  had  offered  to  you" 

"  So  he  did." 

"  And  that  you  accepted  him." 

"  So  I  did." 

"  Then  what  is  the  matter,  and  who  is  engaged  to 
Miss  Hitchcock  ? " 

"He  is.  Oh,  won't  you  understand?  Will  no- 
body ever  understand  ?  Must  I  go  always  on  ex- 
plaining and  explaining  this  dreadful  story  ?" 

"  My  darling,  I  don't  think  you  know  what  you 
are  saying." 

"  Sophy,  George  left  you  ;  but  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  you,  was  he  not  ?  He  was  quite,  quite  good  ; 

wasn't  he  ?  " 

16 


242  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

This  sudden  plunge  into  the  long-buried  and 
never-spoken-of  past — this  abrupt  reference  to  the 
old  love  story  she  did  not  know  the  child  sister  had 
clearly  understood,  took  poor  Sophy's  breath  away. 
A  great  awe  seized  on  her ;  it  seemed  like  some  one 
speaking  just  before  death,  whose  departing  voice 
might  touch  any  subject,  however  sacred. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  solemnly,  after  the  pause  of 
one  affrighted  moment;  "he  left  me  because  we 
could  not  afford  to  marry  ;  he  was  the  best  man  I 
ever  knew,  except  papa." 

"  Then  you  are  happy — immensely  happy,  though 
you  may  never  see  him  again.  Poor  Sophy — poor 
Sophy  !  you  are  happier  than  I  am.  Mine  is  not 
good  !  " 

The  words  came  out  with  a  sort  of  wail.  She 
pushed  her  face  down  among  the  pillows,  as  if  she 
would  fain  hide  it  for  ever,  and  moaned  piti- 
fully. 

"  Now,  Miranda,  my  darling,  you  must  tell  me 
what  it  all  means,"  said  Sophy,  soothingly,  after  a 
little  time,  during  which  she  allowed  her  sister  to 
give  full  vent  to  her  emotions.  "  You  must  really 
tell  me  what  he  has  done." 

"  As  if  I   hadn't  told  you,"  said  she,  in   a  weary 


THE  END.  243 

way.  "  He  is  not  Mr.  Gregory.  That  has  been  my 
mistake  all  the  time.  He  is  Mr.  Cressingham." 

"  Oh,  Miranda !  " 

"  And  he  is  engaged  to  Miss  Hitchcock." 

"Then  he  has  been  only  amusing  himself  with 
you,"  said  Sophy,  in  a  shocked,  pained,  miserable 
voice. 

"  Amusing  himself  ! "  cried  Miranda,  bolt  upright 
on  the  bed  again.  "  Oh,  he  loves  me  so  ;  and  I  love 
him  so  ;  and  the  other  was  all  a  mistake — he  doesn't 
care  for  her,  or  she  for  him,  he  thinks — and  he  means 
to  break  it  off  directly." 

"  Oh,  my  darling  !  not  really  ?  Then  it  is  all  right  ? 
Then  what  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  All  right,  Sissy,  when  he  was  engaged  to  her ; 
and  when  she  must  be  made  unhappy ;  and  when 
he  has  done  wrong  \ — he  who  I  thought  was  like  an 
angel  out  of  heaven.  All  right  !  And  the  only 
hope  I  have  in  the  world  is  that  my  heart  may  really 
break,  and  that  I  may  die.  Oh,  hearts  do  break,"  she 
added,  wildly.  "  Don't  you  remember  the  story  in 
the  Diary  of  a  Physician  of  the  girl  whose  lover  for- 
sook her,  and  her  heart  broke  at  the  piano  ?  She 
went  on  and  on,  trying  to  be  as  usual,  and  to  live  it 
out ;  and  she  sat  down  to  sing  something,  and  they 


244         M/SS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

put  his  favorite  song  before  her,  and  she  began  to 
sing  it  ;  and  then  her  heart  broke,  and  she  died." 

"Don't,  Miranda — please  don't.  I  really  think 
you  are  making  yourself  miserable  about  nothing.  I 
really  think  he  has  done  nothing  wrong  that  you 
need  mind.  These  sort  of  things  do  happen.  Men 
do  make  mistakes.  I  really  think  that  you  may  be 
as  happy  as  possible." 

"  Sissy !  " 

"  I  think  Mr.  Gregory — Mr.  Cressingham,  I  mean 
— may  be  a  very  good  man — a  very  good  man  indeed  ; 
though  he  did  make  a  mistake  when  he  was  quite 
young,  and  engage  himself  to  Miss  Hitchcock." 

"  Oh  !  would  papa  think  so  \  " 

Sophy  reflected  a  moment,  then  she  sent  up  a  little 
prayer  for  guidance,  and  then  she  kissed  Miranda's 
white  face,  and  said,  solemnly — 

"  Yes,  my  darling,  I  believe  he  would." 

Miranda  sat  motionless,  as  if  she  had  fallen  into  a 
trance — motionless,  speechless,  amazed.  After  a 
while  she  began  to  tremble,  and  then  she  began  to 
weep.  Her  tears  seemed  endless — they  poured  forth 
out  of  her  eyes,  big,  bright,  and  beneficent — endless, 
as  if  she  had  never  shed  any  before  in  her  life,  and 
was  never  to  shed  any  again. 


THE  END.  245 

At  last  she  spoke. 

"  Then  I  can  bear  anything  else,"  she  said.  "  Of 
course  I  must  not  think  of  him,  except  as  a  friend  ; 
but  I  was  very  happy  in  his  friendship  before  I  knew 
better,  and  I  must  try  to  be  content  now." 

"  But  why  should  you  not  marry  him  when  he  has 
broken  off  the  engagement  ? 

"  Oh,  don't,  Sissy,  don't!"  she  said,  shrinking; 
"you  hurt  me.  First,  it  is  so  wrong  to  think  of  such 
a  thing  while  he  is  still  engaged  ;  and  then,  if  she 
was  made  unhappy,  I  never  could — no,  I  never  could 
— I  should  be  haunted  by  her  all  my  life." 

And  Miranda  thought,  with  a  shudder,  of  a  bride 
in  the  looking-glass — Miss  Hitchcock  in  her  wed- 
ding dress  —  whom  she  had  fancied,  during  the 
weary  watch  she  had  kept  by  her  bedside,  was  shut 
up  there  to  haunt  her  for  ever.  She  had  made  that 
ghost  vanish  by  walking  boldly  forward  and  looking 
for  it.  "Are  these  strong,  senseless  impressions 
always  allegories,  symbols,  prophecies  ?  "  thought 
she,  with  vague  superstition,  "  Is  it  the  thought  of 
the  real  bride  that  was  to  be,  that  is  to  haunt  my 
life  if  I  take  her  place  ?  and  is  it  only  by  straight- 
forward courage  that  I  can  lay  her  ghost  ?  Was  that 
haunting  fancy  at  once  a  prevision  of  our  future  life, 


246         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

and  a  lesson  how  to  avoid  it  ?  Was  it  for  that,  that 
circumstances  led  me  in  so  unexpected  a  manner  to 
watch  by  a  stranger's  bedside  ?  " 

It  was  getting  late,  and  Sophy  now  begged  Mi- 
randa to  undress  and  go  to  bed  to  try  and  get 
some  sleep. 

"  Yes,  I  will  give  in  this  one  night,  because  I  really 
couldn't  sit  up,"  Miranda  confessed  ;  "  but  after 
that  I  must  be  as  usual.  I  may  have  a  long  time 
to  wait  ;  I  may  have  to  wait  all  my  life.  He  may 
marry  her,  or  he  may  not  be  able  to  break  off  the 
engagement  soon,  or  she  may  be  made  unhappy  ; 
and  all  that  while  I  must  not  even  think  of  him — 
not  in  my  own  heart — not  even  in  my  prayers — ex- 
cept as  a  friend  ;  and  so  I  must  begin  at  once,  to- 
morrow, and  work,  and  talk,  and  be  just  as  usual,  or 
else  I  shall  be  cheating  and  not  really  doing  it ;  but 
just  now  I  will  not  try  to  be  strong,  because  I  am 
so  weak  ;  so  I  will  undress,  as  you  tell  me,  and  go 
to  bed,  and  perhaps  by-and-by  I  may  get  a  little, 
little  sleep." 

Some  sleep  Miranda  did  get,  but  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  she  woke  Sophy. 

"  Sissy,"  she  said,  "  I  am  so  very  sorry  I  was  so 
selfish — I  thought  only  of  myself,  and  not  one  bit 


247 

of  you  ;  and  I  didn't  know  it— I  hadn't  an  idea  of 
it.  That's  the  worst  of  being  selfish  ;  one  is 
horrid,  and  one  doesn't  know  it.  I  was  just  like 
Mr.  Hitchcock." 

"  But  what  did  you  do,  dear  ?  I  don't  know  of 
anything.  You  were  very  unhappy,  poor  child  ; 
that  was  all." 

"I  talked  of  breaking  my  heart  and  dying 
young, "  said  Miranda,  indignantly  ;  "  as  if  I  could 
think  of  such  a  thing,  however  much  I  might  wish 
it,  when  there's  you  !  I  ought  to  have  been 
ashamed  of  myself,  that  I  ought,  and  so  I  am. 
Me  to  die  young,  indeed,  and  leave  my  poor  old 
Sophy — that  would  be  a  pretty  thing  to  do." 

And  she  crept  up  to  Sophy's  side  and  fondled 
her,  and  went  to  sleep  with  her  head  on  her  breast. 

After  that  night  Miranda  kept  her  word.  She 
went  about  her  work  as  usual,  and  was  as  brave  and 
as  strong  as  a  good  girl  could  be.  She  might  not 
laugh  quite  as  often,  or  chat  quite  as  gayly  as  her 
wont,  and  her  cheeks  might  have  lost  a  little  of 
their  delicate  wild-rose  tint,  but  that  was  all  ;  in 
sweetness,  goodness,  industry,  and  even  cheerful- 
ness, she  was  Miranda  still. 

She   knew   that    Mr.    Cressingham   was   out    of 


248          JfSSS  HITCHCOCJfS  WEDDING  DRESS. 

town — that  there  was  no  fear  of  her  meeting  him  ; 
yet  she  did  not  go  near  either  Miss  Hitchcock  or 
Maria  Leslie.  It  was  under  a  mistake  that  they 
had  known  her.  To  them  she  was  Miss  Style. 
She  knew  not  how  to  undeceive  them ;  but  she 
would  not  associate  with  them  except  as  herself, 
and  as  herself  she  supposed  they  would  not  care  to 
have  her.  To  Miss  Hitchcock,  of  course,  under  no 
circumstances  would  she  go  ;  and  she  must  still  be 
too  ill  to  want  anybody,  or  to  think  about  her  at  all. 
But  perhaps  Maria  might  wonder  why  she  did  not 
walk  in  some  afternoon,  to  four  o'clock  tea,  to  sing 
Far  Away,  "  perfectly  in  tune,"  to  the  excruciating 
sounds  of  the  creaky,  creaky  organ.  How  like  a 
dream  that  song  now  seemed,  at  the  end  of  which 
he  had  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered  the  room ! 
Was  she  really  the  same  girl  who  stood  there  sing- 
ing, and  been  left  alone  with  him  when  Maria  had 
run,  crying,  away  from  them  ?  But  here  she  found 
herself  on  dangerous  ground,  and  her  thoughts  had 
to  be  reined  in  and  turned  forcibly  in  an  another 
direction — a  thwarting  which  always  happened  to 
them  when  they  got  upon  dangerous  ground,  which 
they  perhaps  did  something  about  forty  times  in 
every  hour  ;  but  no  one  could  be  more  conscientious 


THE  END.  249 

or  determined  than  Miranda  was  in  always  turning 
them  off  it  again. 

It  was  just  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Gaunt  en- 
treated her  to  pay  him  the  long-promised  visit  to 
his  studio  and  give  him  one  final  sitting  for  his 
portrait  of  Miranda.  She  agreed  to  do  this.  Sophy 
accompanied  her,  and  they  spent  a  pleasant  half- 
hour  looking  over  his  pictures. 

"  If  your  friend,  Miss  what's-her-name,  is  so  wild 
about  Art,"  said  he,  suddenly,  in  his  gruffest  tones, 
"why  doesn't  she  come  and  have  a  look  at  him 
here  ? " 

'•  I  dare  say  because  you  didn't  ask  her,"  replied 
Miranda,  smiling. 

"  And  how  could  I  ask  her  when  I  didn't  know 
she  cared  twopence-ha'penny  about  it  ?  "  cried  he, 
angrily.  "  Why  don't  you  tell  her  she  may  come  ?  " 

"  I  never  see  her  now,"  said  Miranda,  with  a  half 
sigh. 

"  Oh,  a  fickle,  fashionable  friend !  Yes,  yes,  I 
see,"  sneered  Mr.  Gaunt. 

"  No,  you  don't,"  answered  she.  "  She  may  be 
fashionable — I'm  sure  I  don't  know  whether  she  is 
or  not— but  she  is  not  fickle  ;  it  is  I  have  not  been 
to  see  her  ;  I  have  been  busy — and — I  did  not  go." 


250         MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"  Well,  there  you  are  complete  as  Miranda,  at  any 
rate,"  cried  he,  flinging  down  his  brush  ;  "  and  you 
may  walk  miles  and  miles  before  you  see  a  prettier 
picture — hang  it  all !  " 

The  two  sisters  paid  their  tribute  of  praise  to 
the  picture,  warm  and  honest  enough  to  satisfy 
even  the  artist  ;  after  which  they  strolled  home 
together,  talking  softly  as  they  went  of  all  they  had 
seen. 

When  they  entered  the  little  back  parlor, 
Miranda  sank  listlessly  into  a  chair. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  tired,"  she  said. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Sophy,  her  eye  falling  on  a 
few  inches  of  white  that  lay  on  the  table. 

Miranda  turned  languidly  and  took  it  up. 

"  A  note  ! "  she  cried,  surprised ;  adding,  "  for 
me,"  with  some  emotion. 

Then  she  opened  and  read  it,  and  looked  up  at 
her  sister  with  a  meek,  defenceless  look. 

"  Oh,  Sissy,  what  can  this  mean  ?  " 

And  then  she  read  aloud — 

"  '  Miss  Hitchcock  presents  her  compliments  to 
Miss  Miranda  Maxwell,  and  will  be  much  obliged  if 
she  can  call  on  her  this  afternoon,  between  five  and 
six  o'clock.' " 


THE  END.  351 

"  Oh,  Sissy,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  think  you  must  go." 

"To  her?  Of  all  the  people  in  the  world — to 
her ! " 

"  You  have  behaved  nobly  by  her.  You  have 
done  all  that  was  right.  You  need  not  be  the  least 
afraid  to  see  her.  Why  should  you  not  go  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  Probably  it  is  only  to  thank  you  for  having 
nursed  her  ;  or  perhaps  about  some  millinery  busi- 
ness. You  were  at  her  house,  you  know,  on  some 
such  errand  when  she  met  with  the  accident." 

"  He  has  told  her  my  name  !  She  knows  I  am 
not  Miss  Style  !  " 

"  My  dear,  do  you  wish  not  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  believe  I  wish  I  had  not  got 
this  note  ;  but  since  I  have  got  it,  I  could  not  bear 
to  keep  away." 

"  Then  take  my  advice  and  go  at  once,  without 
thinking  any  more  about  it ;  it  is  past  five  o'clock 
now." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  so  easy  to  say  that — to  go  without 
thinking  about  it,"  murmured  Miranda,  as  she 
arranged  her  bonnet  at  the  glass  ;  and  then  she 
kissed  Sophy,  and — went. 


252          M/SS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDIXG  DRESS. 

She  hardly  knew  whether  she  thought  at  all,  as 
she  walked  from  her  own  house  to  Miss  Hitch- 
cock's. But  when  she  rang  the  bell  at  the  end  of 
her  journey,  her  cheeks  were  hot,  her  hands  cold 
and  her  heart  beat  fast. 

The  door  was  opened  to  her  by  the  smart  page, 
who  smiled  his  recognition,  and  then  handed  her  over 
to  the  same  maid  who  had  declined  making  herself 
useful  when  her  mistress  had  met  with  an  accident, 
because  it  was  not  down  in  any  of  her  characters. 
She  conducted  her  to  the  drawing-room  floor — how 
familiar  .it  ah1  seemed  to  Miranda,  and  yet  how 
strange — and,  opening  a  door  there,  ushered  her 
into  a  dressing-room,  or  boudoir,  luxuriously  fur- 
nished and  full  of  flowers.  There  on  a  sofa  lay  Miss 
Hitchcock,  browner,  plainer,  and  more  disagreeable- 
looking  than  ever,  and  dressed  by  the  dictates  of  her 
evil  genius  in  a  white  peignori  covered  with  embroi- 
dery and  trimmed  with  delicate  mauve  ribbons.  Why 
was  that  poor  woman  always  forced  to  put  on  things 
the  prettiest  in  themselves,  yet  the  most  unbecom- 
ing to  her  unfortunate  person  ?  That  is  a  hard 
fate  which,  nevertheless,  attends  some  people 
through  life.  Is  it  by  something  incongruous — 
something  that  jars  in  their  own  minds  that  they 


THE  END.  253 

deserve  it  ?  Is  it  a  sort  of  poetical  justice 
understood  by  nobody,  and  least  of  all  by  them- 
selves ?  Miranda  stood  timidly  by  the  door,' 
looking  at  the  ugly  woman  in  her  beautiful  room, 
and  charming,  unbecoming  invalid  dress — look- 
ing at  her,  but  not  daring  to  approach  her. 

"  What  has  he  told  her  about  me  ? — what  has  he 
told  her  about  me  ? "  was  the  one  thought  in  her  mind. 

"  Is  that  you,  Miss  Maxwell  ? "  said  the  pleasant 
voice  she  remembered  so  well,  and  which  now  sent 
a  little  thrill  all  over  her  ;  "  pray,  come  here — pray, 
do  not  stand  by  the  door." 

Miranda  advanced  towards  the  lady  like  a  pup- 
pet moved  by  strings.  She  tried  to  speak,  but 
her  tongue  seemed  parched,  and  could  not  utter  a 
word.  Then  Miss  Hitchcock  laughed  her  peculiarly 
disagreeable,  harsh  laugh. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ? "  said  she. 

Miranda  asked  herself  the  question,  "  Am  I  ? " 
She  raised  her  eyes  frankly  to  meet  the  forbidding 
eyes  fixed  on  her,  and  answered,  "  No,  I  am  not 
afraid  of  you — there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  be." 

"  Scarcely,"  said  the  other.  "  I  want  to  thank 
you  for  watching  by  me  when  no  one  else  would  ; 
the  doctor  thinks  you  saved  my  life." 


MISS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEUDIXG  / 

This  was  quite  a  new  idea  to  Miranda.  The 
color  rushed  into  her  cheeks  that  had  been  pale 
with  suppressed  emotion,  and  >oy  danced  in  her 

eyes. 

"  Did  I  really  ? "  she  cried. 

There  was  no  mistaking  what  she  felt. 

"You  are  glad?"  said  Miss  Hitchcock,  pleas- 
antly, regarding  her  at  the  same  time  with  a  stern, 
almost  spiteful  countenance. 

"  Glad  ? "  cried  Miranda.     "  I  should  think  so ! " 

"  You  are  a  good  girl." 

"  Good,  because  I  am  glad  I  saved  your  life  ? " 
and  she  laughed  a  little. 

"  Yes,  if  that  life  came  in  the  way  of  your  own 
happiness." 

"  As  if  that  would  make  any  difference  !  " 

"No  difference  in  the  act  perhaps,  but  in  the  joy 
that  follows  the  act." 

"  Besides,"  said  Miranda,  blushing  brightly,  and 
speaking  very  timidly  indeed,  "  it  could  not  come  in 
the  way  of  any  happiness  which  belongs  to  it,  and 
to  no  one  else." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Miss  Hitchcock,  "  people  don't 
always  think  of  whether  a  thing  is  their  own,  if  they 
can  anyhow  get  it." 


THE  END.  255. 

Miranda  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then  said, 
"Are  you  much  better  ?  Are  you  getting  quite  well  ? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  I  am  much  better  ;  I 
am  getting  quite  well  ;  I  shall  soon  be  well  enough 
to  be  married.  Have  you  got  my  wedding  dress 
safe?" 

Miranda  was  covered  with  blushes,  and  had  not 
a  word  to  say  for  herself.  She  felt  dreadfully 
ashamed. 

"  It  fitted  you  exactly,  did  it  not  ?  Do  you  think 
it  will  fit  me  as  well  ?  Do  you  know  I  have  never 
tried  it  on  ?  " 

"  Pray,  forgive  me,"  said  Miranda,  gently.  "I  am 
so  very  sorry." 

"  Sorry — dear  me  !  forgive  you — what  for  ?  What 
have  you  done  ?  " 

"  For  wearing  your  wedding  dress,"  said  she  at 
once,  frankly  and  timidly.  "  It  was  very  wrong  of 
me.  I  am  glad  you  know  of  it,  so  that  I  can  ask 
your  pardon." 

"  And  is  that  the  greatest  injury  you  have  done 
me  ?  "  said  the  other. 

Miranda  reflected. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  have  done  you  no  other 
injury  that  I  could  help." 


256          AfISS  JfITCI/COCA"'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

"Will  you  come  to  my  wedding?"  said  Miss 
Hitchcock,  abruptly. 

"  No,"  replied  Miranda,  in  great  haste  ;  "  I  will 
not." 

"  Shall  I  come  to  yours  ? 

Miranda  was  silent. 

"  Will  you  wear  my  wedding  dress  ?  " 

She  looked  up  like  a  .startled  fawn. 

"  You  have  surely  some  meaning  in  what  you  are 
saying  ? " 

"Do  you  think  people  ever  pass  through  a  great 
danger  conscious  of  that  danger,  and  come  out  of  it 
just  the  same  as  they  went  into  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Miranda,  thoughtfully  ;  "  I  don't 
suppose  they  ever  do." 

"  I  had  plenty  of  time  for  reflection  when  I  was 
ill,"  continued  Miss  Hitchcock  ;  "  and  I  saw  a  good 
many  things  in  new  lights  ;  and  I  made  a  rrcat  many 
plans  for  the  future,  if  any  future  was  to  be  mine. 
But  nothing  came  so  vividly  before  me  as  the  fact 
that  Arthur  Cressingham  and  Hannah  Hitchcock 
made  a  great  mistake  when  they  promised  to  many 
each  other." 

Miranda  pressed  her  hand  against  her  heart  to 
still  its  rapid  beating. 


THE  END.  257 

"  And  so  the  first  thing  I  did  when  I  got  better 
was  to  send  for  him  and  tell  him  so,  and  give  him 
back  his  promise  and  ask  for  mine." 

Miranda  grew  paler  and  paler,  and  pressed  her 
hand  harder  against  her  little  trembling,  fluttering 
heart. 

"  You  did  !  " 

"  I  did  ;  and  he  quite  agreed  with  me." 

"  And  it  was  you  who  did  it  first  ! ''  cried  Miranda. 
"  And  you  didn't  know  of  me  !  Thank  God — thank 
God." 

"  My  dear  child,  are  you  about  to  faint  ?  Pray 
don't  ;  I'm  not  strong  enough  to  help  you." 

"  This  is  going  too  far,"  said  Mr.  Cressingham, 
advancing  suddenly  from  Miranda  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  where,  and  catching  her  in  his  arms 
just  as  she  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground 

But  she  rapidly  came  to  herself  again.  The  spirit 
warj  too  happy  not  to  be  eager  to  return  to  the 
form  that  was  encircbd  by  those  dear  arms.  Al- 
most the  first  thing  she  said  was,  in  the  softest 
whisper,  "  Forgive  me  ;  I  blamed  you  too  much  ;  I 
did  not  understand — *'  He  stopped  the  words 
with  kisses,  and  assured  her  that  he  had  deserved 
every  word  she  said.  And  so  all  Miranda's  scruples 


253         AfJSS  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 

were  satisfied,  and  the  happiness  which  her  sweet 
nature  was  so  well  fitted  to  enjoy  surrounded  her 
like  a  flood  of  sunshine. 

It  is  a  pity  to  draw  stories  out  to  any  length  a'tcr 
the  denouement  has  occurred,  and  either  perfect  joy 
or  perfect  misery  has  set  in.  The  intelligent  reader 
— and  none,  we  believe,  but  an  intelligent  reader 
will  have  accompanied  us  so  far  in  our  narrative, 
does  not  require  to  be  told  that  Mr.  Cressingham 
persuaded  Miranda  to  fix  an  early  day  for  their 
marriage,  and  that,  long  after  that  glorious  day  was 
among  the  has-beens  of  life,  he  continued  to  be  the 
happiest -of  men  as  she  was  of  women  ;  for  if  his 
love  had  been  sudden,  it  was  deep  and  true  ;  and  he 
was  one  of  those  fortunate  beings  who,  falling  in 
love  with  an  idea  (for  such  love  at  first  sight  must 
always  be),  finds  the  reality  surpasses  instead  of 
falling  short  of  it. 

We  will,  therefore,  only  add,  what  even  the  most 
intelligent  reader  might  not  divine  for  himself,  that 
Mr.  Cressingham,  having  a  most  excellent  living  in 
his  gift,  close  to  the  Hall,  managed  to  get  rid  of  its 
rector  without  poisoning  or  otherwise  maltreating 
him,  and  immediately  afterwards  presented  it  to 
faithful  George,  who,  in  consequence  thereof,  gave 


THE  EArD.  2S9 

up  his  chaplaincy  in  India,  returned  home  in  the 
highest  spirits,  and  married  faithful  Sophy  ;  and 
that  Maria  Leslie  and  Mr.  Gaunt  met  very  often  in 
the  course  of  the  next  year  or  two,  but  that  I  am 
not  going  to  give  the  least  hint  as  to  whether  any- 
thing came  of  it.  Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  one 
thing  is  certain,  neither  Mr.  Cressingham  nor  Mi- 
randa Maxwell  ever  for  a  moment  regretted,  or 
had  any  cause  to  regret,  through  the  whole  of  their 
future  lives,  the  evening  when  she  first  put  on 
Miss  HITCHCOCK'S  WEDDING  DRESS. 


DR.  HOLLAND'S 

LATEST  PROSE  WORK. 

SEVENOAKS. 

A  STORY  OF  TO-DAY. 

BY  J.  G.  HOLLAND. 

Author  of  "ARTHUR    BONNICASTLE,"   "THE  MISTRESS  OF  THE   MANSE," 
"KATHRINA,"  "BITTER  SWEET,"  "  TITCOMB'S  LETTERS,"  etc. 


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which,  at  least,  is  familiar  to  every  reader.  Jim  Fenton,  the  rough, 
droll,  outspoken,  big-hearted  fellow,  who  rises  from  trapper  to  hotel- 
keeper  in  the  Northern  woods ;  Paul  ,  Benedict,  the  gentle,  easily 
swindled  inventor;  Miss  Butterworth,  the  brusque,  busy,  and  benevo- 
lent little  dressmaker ;  Mr.  Snow,  the  conciliatory  parson ;  Mr. 
Cavendish,  the  lawyer  for  an  emergency ;  Mrs.  Dillingham,  the 
handsome  semi-adventuress ;  Mrs.  Belcher,  the  fretful,  but  too  meek 
wife ;  and  Belcher  himself,  the  cunning  and  successful  swindler,  the 
great  manufacturer,  the  railroad  prince,  the  man  who  gets  up  a  corner 
;'n  Wall  Street,  and  "  pines  for  a  theological  seminary,"  —  all  these, 
and  other  characters  whose  names  we  need  not  rehearse,  each  sug- 
gests some  real  person  whom  the  reader  has  known  or  read  about. 
But  it  is  not  merely  because  the  characters  and  scenes  and  incidents 
are  thoroughly  modern  and  familiar  that  the  story  has  won  so  much 
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beginning  to  end  by  so  large  an  audience,  and  with  such  eager  and 
sustained  interest.  The  book,  too,  is  enlivened  by  those  bits  of  out- 
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